


Between Iron and Silver

by TheFilthWithin (Flatfootmonster)



Category: SKAM (Norway)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Prostitution, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Angst with a Happy Ending, Emotional Baggage, Eventual Smut, Fluff and Smut, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, M/M, Slow Burn, Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-09-17
Updated: 2019-03-17
Packaged: 2019-07-13 16:13:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 11
Words: 143,892
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16021454
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Flatfootmonster/pseuds/TheFilthWithin
Summary: Isak Valtersen never had the chance to come out; the closet doors were ripped off by someone else. His whole world knew, and in the worst possible way. So, Isak rebuilds himself, with forts and armour, because he won't be vulnerable again.Even has his whole world exactly how he wants it; he's earned it. He's unashamed of who and what he is, and is proud that he only needs himself to survive.But their lives are about to become intertwined.





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> This is a Call Boy AU, Even is the Call Boy. There is referenced historic child abuse, there will be violence... It is endgame but it's dark on the way there. 
> 
> I appreciate if this isn't your cup of tea but you should probably stop now <3
> 
> I wanted to write an Evak story that was kinda gritty, my adorable beta, Lady Darkness, gave me the Call Boy idea and I ran with it. It goes straight into the gritty so... beware. 
> 
> Love, Becs

##  Prologue

###  Isak

Isak slouched forward on the bench, cradling his head in both hands. Everything swirled and spun within his skull in a panic, he had absolutely no control over the situation. It was all out of his hands and over one stupid drunken mistake. He was almost ready to be honest, almost ready to face his fears, and now that terrifying but dignified option was smashed into a million irreparable pieces. 

“Dude, it’s gonna be OK. You need to chill.” Jonas assured him at his side, resting a hand on Isak’s shoulder. But Isak shrugged him off, he didn't want to be touched right now—or assured.

“No, it’s fucken not. It’s a fucken mess.” To drive the point home, a group of first years walked past, one girl—with eyebrows that Isak thought might be drawn on with a sharpie—pointed at him and said something behind her hand to the girl next to her, but loudly enough for the whole group to hear. All ten eyes turned to him before they shuffled away, giggling in what they must have thought was very subtle. It was fucking not.

It had been like that all day. Isak didn’t want to see the the pictures, despite knowing it was inevitable at some point—some asshole would make sure he saw. Right now he’d rather be punched in the face, and then the gut.

Jonas sighed next to him—this was all new to him too. “It’ll be a new thing next week and no one will give a fuck. You know  _ we  _ don’t give a fuck. I just wish you’d said something,” he snorted, like  _ he  _ had the right to feel some kinda way about all this. Like Isak was somehow to blame for wanting to be private about this.

“ _ I _ give a fuck, Jonas,” he frowned, shooting a glare at his best friend. His tone must have been as sharp as the anger he felt because Jonas flinched away from him, visibly reconsidering how he was going to fix this. But he didn’t realise that he couldn’t fix this. “It’s fucked. This was for me to tell, whenever the fuck I was ready. I can’t redo this—no one can take this back.” He was livid and he let himself feel it. 

If he cared about his surroundings at that moment, he would have realised that people were looking in his direction, alerted by his raised voice. But fuck it all, his sexuality had already been something he couldn’t control if he’d wanted to. But coming out, that was something he figured he had power over—or it had been. Now that was down the shit chute too. And trying to explain how that felt to someone who was straight and hitting every expectation that was aimed his way? Fuck all of that.

Jonas softened in his stance and expression, trying to be calmer, trying to infect Isak with his relaxed aura. “Seriously, Isak, everyone is gay in the right circumstances. It’s no big deal, just try and stay chill, let's get kebabs and play some FIFA after school—”

Isak was sure there was more peacekeeping suggestions coming, more mindless bullshit to focus on while everyone was focussing on him and whose mouth his dick had been in. He'd like to know himself—he didn't even know the guys name. But he did know that he should’ve been more careful, he was  _ always  _ careful. The one time he wasn’t, it blew up in his goddamn face. This shit wouldn’t happen—not  _ ever  _ again. And here Jonas was, expecting him to carry on like nothing had happened. 

The bullshit suggestions were cut off as he stood from the bench, pulling his hood up over his head and thrusting his hands in his pockets. “ _ Fuck you. Fuck FIFA. Fuck this place _ ,” he spat back venomously. Jonas just stared back at him wide eyed. Isak knew he wouldn’t hold this against him, knew Jonas would understand and forgive the hasty words, knew he would regret how he was handling this. But right now he wasn’t handling anything, he was struggling to keep his chin above the water.

This wasn’t just school. This was online,  _ this  _ was going to get back to a teacher by some fucking do-gooder and then it would be taken seriously. Then the school would take an anti cyber-bullying stance and his parents would be involved. It was inevitable. And just like that, his whole world would know. There was nowhere to hide. He was fucking powerless.

Turning his back on his friend, Isak strode away, towards the stairs, and then the road, and then the tram, and then his bed. And he didn't expect he would leave it anytime soon.

“Isak…  _ Isak _ !” Jonas called out after him, “Where are you going?”

“Home,” he yelled over his shoulder.

_ “You’ll fuck up your ten per cent.” _

If Isak hadn’t been so blinkered on getting home, and the scarlet shade of his vehemence wasn’t so acute and raw, he’d laugh. His attendance was the last fucken thing on his mind right now, last year or not, final semester or not. He needed to crawl into a hole right now and build his walls. The rest of the world could wait. If it didn’t want to wait, it could suck his dick, this time he wouldn’t give a shit if anyone saw. 

Instead, he ignored Jonas and concentrated over the small thing he had control of: putting one foot in front of the other. 

###  Even

It never took long, which was a blessing he supposed. It made him work harder, if he could keep his clients surprised, no matter how regular, it meant less time spent for the same amount of money. And that was just good business sense.

Even was well versed, well practised, well manicured in everything he did. Every movement, every word, every sound. He knew it was an art, and one that people wanted. They  _ needed _ it, and they would pay a small fortune for the best. That made him feel powerful—in control—no matter how much they thought they were the top, if that was the particular flavour of the night. 

The flavor tonight was Romanian cock, which was currently about seven inches down his throat. This client was a regular, and usually he wanted the whole package: dinner, conversation—which would usually entail Even listening for the most part, and offering interested noises at the right intervals—hard liquor and then fucking, at his penthouse. When it came to the fucking, this client was a top but as rough as he liked it to be, he was passionate. He liked pretty things, he’d tell Even that regularly—and apparently Even was one of the prettiest things he’d ever sunk his cock into. 

It was different, they were  _ all  _ different. Part of Even’s job was to remember those subtleties; he kept a diary that listed the unique facets and facts of these people that kept his bank account full. He liked to be the best, and impersonal was not what they wanted. Well,  _ most  _ of them—especially the women. There was one exception and he never spoke anyway, he would just pick Even up and watch in the rearview mirror while Even touched himself. That was the easiest ticket he had and he still wasn’t sure what the guy got from it, but he wasn’t complaining—or judging. 

Today was out of the ordinary because they were in Mr Bucharest’s car, and he was pretty particular about his interior—no food or drinks, and the like, but needs must. He’d mentioned, whilst unfastening his belt buckle, that he had a flight to catch in three hours and he wasn’t sure how long he’d be away for. 

It would be touching for someone else, he was sure, that this man was desperate enough to pick him up, pay double Even’s cost because he’d had plans he needed to cancel, just so this guy could feel his lips around his cock. But all he felt was job satisfaction—he was pretty sure that, in his situation, that was the right thing to feel. Fuck emotions, they had no place in a world like this. Sure rehearse them, play them, make it believable. But it could never touch you, and Even had no issues there.

And this guy was OK, considering some of the hands he would let touch him. His face was as severe as the way he liked to fuck, but it was dark in a brooding way. He was handsome, Even supposed. He didn’t think he really had a type—he didn't experience attraction like everyone else, he could appreciate aesthetics but he would never find himself lust after  _ anyone _ . But he was sure most people would be flattered to gain this guy’s attentions. 

Right now his attention was all for Even, as he bent over his lap. Fingers were tugging roughly at Even’s hair as the guy was fucking into his mouth, as much as he could sat in that pristine, polished seat. He could hear the creak of leather as the guy's  free hand was gripping the steering wheel, and rain was pelting at the windows and roof. Apart from that, the only other sound was his name being stirred around in the guy’s mouth.  _ Well,  _ it was his alias.

It was a dumb alias really, and cliche as fuck. But the first client he’d ever had asked him his name as he’d slid into the passenger seat, not quite as smoothly as he would today. He’d panicked momentarily, he didn’t want to hear his own name said to him whilst he was doing what he did, it would feel too personal. And so he’d said the first thing that had come to mind: Romeo. It stuck. 

“ _ Fuck _ , you know I like that, Romeo.” he grunted into the relative quiet of the car, parked on some back road, twenty minutes from the city centre. 

But of course Even fucking knew, this was his job, to know all that shit. And this guy would love getting fucked up the ass if he wasn’t a complete victim to toxic masculinity. As it was he’d almost lose his damn mind when Even played with his perineum—which his fingers were currently massaging firm patterns into. Even knew that, in normal circumstances and in Mr Bucharest's bed, the more he teased him there, the harder he would end up getting fucked—like a fucking penance for enticing thoughts of bottoming in the guy’s mind. But right now all he had were his hands and Even’s mouth, and so Even had to relax his jaw as the guy’s cock assaulted the back of his throat—again and again—until tears leaked from the corner of his eyes. 

But it was momentary discomfort, he knew that. And whatever downsides there were, it would never overshadow the grand scheme. This was how he’d learned to survive, this was how he’d made his life, he reclaimed it and used it in anyway he saw fit. Right now he saw fit to drag a knuckle firmly over that sensitive skin under this guy’s balls, while his tongue swirled around the head of his cock. And with one last desperate thrust, the guy came down his throat in warm spurts while cursing in Romanian, and holding Even right there until he was soft and panting. 

“Fuck, I’d love to taste myself on your mouth. You sure there’s no figure—”

Even was shaking his head as he sat back, drawing the back of his hand across his mouth as delicately as he could. Mr Bucharest didn’t like the messy side of things. “It’s nothing personal,” he said sweetly, with a grin.

And it wasn’t. There was no way he was going to kiss any of his clients, regardless of how familiar they were. As open as he was, kissing wasn’t a thing he had any experience or fascination in, and he never foresaw that changing. This was one of the only hard no’s he had with his work, and there was no amount of money that would sway his mind. That was a fact; this guy wasn’t the first to ask.  

“Besides, that’s what you have a wife for,” he added with a wink. It might be pushing the limit with some of his clients, but not with this one. He opened up to Even, about many, many things, and his wife was one of them. It seems they both fucked around, they both hated it and each other, but they stayed together regardless. Even couldn’t comprehend relationships generally speaking—or why anyone would get themselves into one—but this baffled him even more. It seemed the volatile nature appealed to both parties though. It wasn’t for him, but so were a lot of other things—like gherkins. 

Most relationships were abusive, that much he knew. It’s why he didn’t do them. But Mr Bucharest kept his business life to himself, which Even was grateful for—he always assumed it was less than savory by the very fact he was given no clues about it whatsoever.

He laughed in the gruff way he did, his voice was always gravelly and his accent thick. It  _ was _ a sexy voice, Even had to admit. “You’re lucky I have to go boy, or I’d fuck you so hard, you’d still feel me when I get back.”

Even quirked his eyebrows at that, fastening his seat belt. Safety first, of course. “You can’t go around threatening me with a good time like that.”

And Mr Bucharest gave him a long look, the same one he would give one of the priceless—but frankly gaudy—antiques or artworks housed at his apartment, but with an added smirk that gave his thoughts away—to Even at least. “You’re fucking gorgeous, you know that.”

Even smirked right back. “I’m paid to be.”

“Worth every penny.” And he meant it. But all any of his clients thought he was good at was sucking and fucking, they didn’t care about anything else. That was the way it was supposed to be, if any of them wanted to know more about  _ Romeo _ , Even would cut them off as quick as you can say:  _ not today, stalker _ . But it did burn sometimes, to be reminded that all someone saw was a whore. He wasn’t a whore, no whore truly was, they just did a damn fucking good job at playing the role. Even was also well versed in ignoring that burn.

The conversation diluted into small talk as the car was started and Even was driven a few miles to where he’d left his own vehicle. He would never let anyone pick him up at his own home. It had nothing to do with shame; he had his own penthouse, even if it wasn't in Aker Brygge like Mr Bucharest’s. Even was extremely proud of his own abode, but there was no way in hell any of his clients were getting his address.

The parting words were the dates he’d be back in Oslo, although Even didn't need them. They were already marked in his diary, Tuesday and Wednesday of that week booked out for Mr Bucharest. He was a usual and he was predictable—retained business was Even’s bread and butter.

Finally he was in his own four by four, taking roads he knew like the back of his hand until he reached his building’s underground lot. A few minutes later, the bath was running and he was peeling his shirt over his head before throwing it in the wash basket. 

Sitting on the edge of his roll top tub, he dug into his pocket for his phone. There were three messages. One was from the new bar manager at his favorite club; they'd hit it off instantly and he had some big ideas that he wanted to share with Even sometime. He was a talkative and hyperactive guy, as straight as Even was, and a fucking legend to drink with. He wasn't sure about how solid these big ideas were, but he was tempted to go along for the ride. 

The other two were client set ups over the weekend. Even chewed on his lip, dangling the fingers on his free hand in the water, swirling the bubbles idly as he considered it. He’d made enough in the last thirty minutes not to bother for the next week or two. 

But then again, who knew when it would all end? And he really did enjoy his job—for the most part. Fuck it, he thought as he tapped the first message, he may as well fill up his time. If there was one thing he hated it was boredom.

Perhaps, though, he could consider something else. Something  _ new _ .


	2. Chapter One

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sana pursed her lips. “Isak you have five days to find somewhere.”
> 
> “Six,” he corrected and earned himself a frown that scalded better than words.
> 
> “You can't include your move out date. That's impractical.”
> 
> He shrugged. “Something will come up.”

##  Chapter One

###  Isak

“So, you decided to come then?” 

Isak frowned at Jonas. Of course he had, he was sitting here, wasn't he? On the same couch as the boys whilst they waited on the girls. Fair enough, he was drinking coke where they had beer, but he was definitely present. 

“Why wouldn't I?” And it was a silly question, Isak was trying to dismiss all the obvious pointers that him deciding to go out raised. He hadn't been out like this since before the shit hit the fan. “I had to see Noora off.” 

That was true, he really wouldn’t have gone otherwise; she was a close friend and his housemate.  _ And  _ she’d sat on his bed and managed to give him puppy dog eyes with a perfect pout, her red stained lips needing no words to do her bidding, and her golden bobbed hair framing her face like an angel. He’d sighed and conceded, because what else could he do in the face of all that beauty? 

He felt Jonas release the tension he was holding in with his breath as he decided to let those obvious issues slide, and Isak silently thanked him for it. 

“How do you think she'll get on, you know second time around?” 

Isak shrugged. He didn't know, it had been a long two years since Noora and William had decided to try living together for the first time—that hadn't ended well. And here they were, retracing their footsteps to the same damn city, but this time it was Noora who was leading. And he couldn't blame her, being head hunted by UCL was more than just flattery, it was an unreal opportunity. But the failed attempted  _ was  _ a long time ago, everyone had grown since. 

Isak eyed William and Chris, sat by themselves on the other side of the room. Both dark featured: the first, a blank wall of foreboding, and the latter, a cut out template of a fuck boy. No one particularly liked them, and they didn't particularly like anyone but themselves. Well, Isak would argue that William didn't like anyone  _ but  _ Noora. But there it was, you couldn't pick your friends’ partners, could you? 

“I guess we'll see, but we’ll be here for her, no matter what. Although, I think she probably holds all the cards now.” 

Jonas nodded. “True that.” 

Mahdi slid into the spot next to Isak, handing Jonas another beer. “I can't believe everyone is leaving.” 

Isak gave him a sidelong look. “Everyone is  _ not  _ leaving, don't be so dramatic.” 

“Well,  _ here _ ,” he replied, thumping his fist gently on the arm of the sofa to signify he meant this particular house, and not put off in his lamentation by an ounce. “Eskild living with Magnus and Vilde; Noora in London; Linn in Copenhagen—I still can't believe that.” Neither could Isak really. Of all the people he knew, Linn—the one overwhelmed with social anxiety on the best of days—was the last he would have picked to get caught up in a whirlwind romance and move to another country. He was glad the sentence had ended with speculation on Linn, rather than himself and what exactly Isak was going to do. Because he was still clueless in that regard; he had no plan past move-out day.

“Well,” Jonas cut in, “not a complete surprise, she had a thing for the Danes, right? Remember that month when she didn’t leave her room cos she was watching Unit One on repeat? What's the guy’s name? With the cheekbones?” 

“Mads Mikkelsen. He was in Dr Strange.” Mahdi answered quickly.

“ _ And  _ Star Wars.” Isak offered, Star Wars was a better franchise than the Marvel Movies and he would die to defend that point. 

“So, I guess she has good taste. He's handsome right, Isak?” Mahdi asked.

Isak frowned at both his friends, peering at him expectantly. “What the fuck? Cos I'm gay you have to get my approval that a man in handsome?”

“Well, yeah,” Jonas put in, like it was obvious. 

Isak snorted and crossed his arms, slouching back in his seat. “It doesn't make you gay if you think a guy is good-looking. I mean, girls compliment each other all the time and you don't see them looking for a lesbian seal of approval. Christ, you need to get over this toxic masculinity.” 

His two friends were quiet a moment before Mahdi piped up. “Well, I think he's alright looking.” 

“Yeah,” Jonas mused, “but if I was gonna pick any Danish dude it would be that guy from Game of Thrones—Nikolaj  _ something _ ?”

“Coster-Waldau.” Mahdi stated, earning him a matching pair of questioning frowns.

“How did you know that?” Isak asked.

He shrugged. “I’m good with names.”

Jonas snorted a laugh. “You sure about that? You couldn’t remember that girl’s name from last week that you hooked up with. But Danish men… maybe you and Linn have a lot more in common than we thought.”

“ _ What _ ? I like TV trivia,” he said defensively.

“More than hooking up with chicks?” Isak snickered.

“Hey, it’s just like you and football, Jonas. You know all that trivia shit. But I bet you don’t know Eva’s favorite colour.”

“Purple. Or yellow, depending on the day.” Jonas snapped back instantly, a satisfied smirk on his face.

“OK, her favorite food?”

“It _was_ my lasagne up, until Noora came along with her frittata and pomegranate salad,” He sighed, “You win some, you lose some. And, honestly, it _is_ pretty good—I’ll give her that.” 

Mahdi grappled desperately for a point he could prove himself with. “Or—”

“Give it up, bro,” Isak cut in, shouldering his flustered friend, “they’re like soulmates, it’s no good.” He wasn’t sure why  _ he _ hadn’t been used to make an example of, considering he found no interest in anyone, all his focus was in his studies. And he was fine with that. Maybe his friends were still giving a wide berth to all subjects that could lead back to the unspoken point of contention that they were all aware of. 

“Well, I’ll hook up with someone tonight and I’ll make sure I report back to you tomorrow with their full name.” Mahdi seemed content with his comeback. 

“Just make sure it’s a Danish actor so you remember,” Jonas snorted into his beer, and Isak couldn’t help but laugh with him.

“Fuck you guys. _ A girl _ .”  

“I’m looking forward to you getting her full name without sounding like a complete fucking stalker,” Isak mused, it could be entertaining. Especially the drunker everyone got tonight. With him remaining sober, Isak got to observe some of the funniest—often forgot—moments. 

“I could be trying to find her on Facebook.”

“And that doesn’t sound stalkerish at all.” It was Jonas’ turn to taunt, sarcasm ladelled generously over his words. 

Mahdi just tutted and shook his head. “I’ll show you both.”

Isak nodded. “I’m sure you will. I still think we missed out on an epic love story though; Mahdi and Linn: The Danish Way,” he said in a grand voice, gesturing with his hands like a show was about to start.

“Sounds like a porno,” Jonas put in. By this point, Mahdi looked completely done with the conversation—but he was a fighter, it was one of the things Isak loved about him.

“Everything sounds like a porno to you, Jonas. Fast and Furious, Cowboys and Aliens—even  _ Beauty and the Beast,  _ for fucks sake.” They  _ may  _ have extensively discussed film titles and their porno counterparts one night over the summer, while they were all high off their tits. It looked like Mahdi had taken notes.

But Jonas shrugged shamelessly. “I do not regret those answers—I stand by my imagination.”

“Can we just not reimagine  _ Beauty and the Beast _ please? For my sanity?” Isak half suggested, half plead. Jonas looked ready to refresh everyone's memory regardless, before he was overridden.

“ _ Anyway _ ,” Mahdi’s eyebrows drew together, “I can’t remember what my point was.”

“Me neither,” Isak agreed, but he was half distracted because his phone was buzzing in his pocket. Pulling it free, he unlocked the screen. “Magnus; he wants to know when we’re coming.”

And, as if on cue, several pairs of heeled feet began to make their way down the hall towards the living room. Isak shot back a quick reply to let them know they were on their way, just as Eva, Vilde, girl-Chris, Noora and Sana came tottering in preened and wearing their heels—well, except Sana—and talking excitedly. They were an array of bright and clashing colours, like a rain forest on acid—again, apart from Sana who was all blacked out, from her headscarf to her trainers. It was more than obvious that Eskild was absent from the preparations.  

They were tipsy, too—bar Sana once more; two bottles of wine had gone in with them an hour ago and Isak imagined they were now both as dry as a bone. 

“Are you guys ready?” Vilde asked, as bright and jarring  _ and  _ well meaning—as usual. 

“Only for the past forty five minutes,” Isak grumbled, standing with the rest of the guys. He blinked when he realised Sana held him with a stern glare. “But it was worth it, you all look beautiful.” And he shot them his best smile, which managed to melt even Sana’s frown. And apart from the colour clash, he meant it; they were all stunning in the variety of shapes and shades they came in. 

“You didn't make much effort,” Eva stated, studying him where he stood and brushing her long brown hair over one shoulder. Isak brushed his hands over his stomach to flatten out his shirt. 

“It's all clean,” he said in his defense. It was a rubbish one, he knew, but he wasn't looking to impress. He just wanted to be himself, which meant jeans and a cap. The slightly rumpled shirt was about as far as he was going to go to meet the dress code. Eskild was the manager, they’d get in anyway. 

She rolled her eyes but diverted her attention to Noora, who sent an elbow into her ribs. “Ow,” she exclaimed with a pout, rubbing at where she'd been abused. “What was that for?” 

“He’s coming, that's all that matters,” Noora impressed with a firm glance directed at Eva. 

“Exactly,” Chris added, someone had spent a dedicated amount of time fixing her hair into a multitude of Viking style braids, woven in patterns—Vilde would be Isak’s guess. “He’s come out of hibernation, maybe he’ll pull tonight.”

Isak felt heat in his face as everyone looked at him, and an uncomfortable silence stretched out. She at least looked abashed when the stares turned their aim on her. 

“ _ Chris,”  _ Sana hissed.

“What?” she said, her own cheeks flushed, “I was just saying what you were all thinking.” Chris didn't back down, it was a trait Isak admired but wouldn't necessarily condone right now—not when he was the subject matter. 

“Thinking but not saying,” Vilde said through a tight smile, her pale skin flushed in empathetic mortification—or alcohol. He wasn't sure. 

Jonas lurched in to action, moving towards Eva so he could slide his arms around her. “I think I can hear the taxi.” Isak thought that might be a lie, but he appreciated it nonetheless. And just like that everyone began to move, the awkward moment eagerly brushed aside by all parties. 

“Noora, you're with me.” It was William’s rare growl that announced the command; so Noora would be riding with him. 

“Only if I'm in passenger side,” she chided back, a small smirk on her face.

“Of course,” he said, coming to her side to claim her in that weird territorial manner he had, and earning a tut from boy-Chris.

“ _ And,”  _ she continued, poking a finger at his chest, “Vilde rides with us.” And that brought a groan from boy-Chris. Isak couldn't help but grin.

“OK.” William agreed, as if he could do anything less. 

The group began to traipse to the door, and Mahdi dropped in beside Isak. 

“You know this was our last pre party here,” he said on a wistful sigh. 

Isak shook his head. “I need to get you to some alcohol and chicks. I had no idea you were so goddamn sentimental.” He had a feeling this was going to be a long night. But it was for a good cause, he reminded himself for the thousandth time. 

###  Even

Friday nights meant members only. Which was better in ways, not so great in others. He knew most of the faces here, and most of them knew Even; he wasn’t exactly subtle in his own skin. 

When the music flowed around him, and the lights blazed and pulsed he felt alive. The adrenaline rush; what was going to happen tonight? Would it end with an old familiar or a new acquaintance? Both had their merits and tonight his schedule was clear. First, he had business—well,  _ different _ business. 

Leaning over the bar, Even waited to gain the barmaid's attention. She was fairly new, slight and pretty, with short hair and large doe eyes. Her name might have been Emma but he wasn’t great with names, people don't seem to mind that too much though. He managed to remember the important things. 

He watched as a dark haired guy, maybe a little younger than himself, grinned over the bar at her. He looked pretty taken and she seemed to be preening under the attention. There was another guy next to the first: taller, sombre, and with a nose that bordered on being too large for his face. Despite that, he was good-looking, and he was glancing over at Even in that curious hetero-flexible way. Perhaps it would be a new acquaintance tonight? 

“Hei!” The barmaid chirped, jolting Even’s attention back to business. 

“Hey, Emma?” he asked, smiling down at her warmly. 

She nodded eagerly. “You remembered?” 

“Only the prettiest faces.” Even was so used to flirting by now, he couldn't seem to turn the function off anymore.

She squirmed in delight under the compliment. “You're here to see Eskild, right?” 

He nodded, happy to get to the point. Turning away, she grabbed a bottle from a low fridge behind her. Popping open the lid, she slid the beer across the countertop. Nodding over Even’s shoulder, she leant into him.

“It's room two.” 

Even glanced behind him at the private rooms she was referring to, he was already more than familiar with them. Turning back, he arched an eyebrow. “That kind of meeting, huh?” 

She snickered into her palm, before shrugging at him. “No, I think the office is  _ out of bounds _ .” 

“Thanks,” he said, patting the bartop. “Oh, and be careful of that one,” he nodded in the direction of the shorter guy, who was still lingering at the other end of the bar, stealing glances in her direction. “Looks like he just fell in love.” 

She bit her lip and looked over to the man in question, managing to catch his eye. “I will.” 

With her attention divided now, Even strode away. It looked like an interesting night ahead for  _ them _ in any case. 

As he approached the door, Even idly scrolled through his phone notifications. There was nothing of great interest going on, but the night was young and there was that one guy that usually looked for something at the start of the month—after payday. He was pretty regular, Even could almost count on it.

He raised the hand that was holding his beer to knock at the door, but it opened before his knuckles made contact. Looking up from his phone, he found Eskild nodding him into the small dark room.

“I was just coming to find you.” He flapped his hands at Even to usher him to a seat, so Even let himself be herded in, and plopped down onto a soft, velveteen sofa that ran one length of the wall. As he sat, he nodded to an average looking blonde guy, who wore an eager smile, already sat in an armchair. Up until that moment, the third party was a stranger to Even. 

“Sorry I was just…” he shrugged. It was normal for him to be late, though it was never his intention, he just couldn't walk through the club without sparking up a dozen conversations en route. And Even had never been one to hurry a greeting. 

Eskild rolled his eyes. “Yes, yes. I know; you're queen of the fucking night.” He huffed like he was exasperated but Even already knew Eskild was fond of him, in a protective older brother way, which was completely unnecessary but still entirely endearing.

“Queen of the night?” he snorted. 

Eskild smirked as he took a seat next to Even. “Yes, like Whitney. But sluttier.” 

He grinned back. “For the right money, I'll be whatever you want,” he teased playfully. Eskild seemed to find it funny, and the blond guy was snickering too—despite being clueless as to what Even’s main source of income was. Or Even assumed he was ignorant of that fact, Eskild didn't seem one to gossip. 

The music was duller in these rooms so they could talk without shouting. Reaching across to the face that was new to him, Even offered his hand. “Even,” he said. And he waited for the guy to close his mouth and take his outstretched hand in a firm shake. 

“Magnus,” he said in reply. 

“It's nice to meet you.” Turning back, so he could address them both—sat in the middle as he was—he continued. “So, shall we get down to business?  _ No _ , first of all, why is the office out of bounds?” He took a sip from his beer before placing it on the table. It wasn’t his drink of choice, but they didn’t stock what was more his taste here.  

Eskild clicked his tongue in vexation. “How did you know?”

“Emma,” Even replied, quirking an eyebrow in anticipation for the events that could only unfold around Eskild. 

“We’re having a neon party.”

Even waited for him to elaborate, but decided to probe when Eskild looked like he was giving no more information on the subject. “ _ And _ ? What does that have to do with the office?”

He cleared his throat. “I may have over-ordered the bracelets and necklaces. You know, the ones where you snap them and they start glowing?”

Even nodded. “By how many?”

“Well,” he began, before sighing and giving into the inevitable, “I was  _ suppose  _ to order a thousand pieces. I think I ordered ten thousand.” He rolled his eyes when Even snorted. “And so,” he spoke right over the other two men’s laughter, “my office is full of boxes, OK. Happy now?”

“Jesus, what are you gonna do?” Even managed to ask after his mirth subsided. 

Eskild shrugged. “Neon Saturdays… for the whole year?”

“I’m in, either way.” Even reassured. 

“Me too,” Magnus added in a tone that said he really just wanted to be a part of the conversation but was having problems finding something relevant to say. 

“Everyone is invited,” Eskild announced, “although it’s neon bracelets, and nothing else, Mags. You think Vilde would give you permission.”

Magnus huffed indignantly. “ _ Permission _ ? I’ll tell her what’s happening, and she will accept it because  _ I _ am the man.”

It was Eskild’s turn to choke on his beer and laughter. “You sure about that, sweetheart? I’ve seen you ask her what socks you should wear.”

His eyes darted from Even to Eskild. Even assumed that Vilde must be his girlfriend, or the ball and chain might be a better description judging by this exchange. Relationships—why did anyone even bother?

“I’m kidding,” he began, leaning forward to lean his elbows on his knees, “just don’t tell her I said that—about the  _ I’m the man thing _ .” He licked his lips, lost in a moment that Even assumed was predicting what parts of him would be left behind if said ball and chain heard about his jibes. “But actually,” he added, still traipsing about somewhere in his imagination, “she would probably be up for that—Naked and Neon.” And a small smile curved his lips.

“I’ll be sure to word it so she thinks  _ she  _ has to convince  _ you  _ then,” Eskild shot him a grin, “and you’re welcome.”

And Magnus was beaming again. “Could be fun.”

“ _ Anyway _ ,” Even cut in, “shall we begin? I guess event planning can come after we get on the same page with everything else.”

“Sure,” Eskild agreed, “firstly, are we all in?” Even and Magnus nodded, so he continued. “Well, we have a whole lot of planning to do, but the main thing is securing a venue. I want it to be seperate from here—this place already has an established reputation as being pretty exclusive, AKA snobby. I want this place to be inclusive, first and foremost.” 

“I like that,” Magnus nodded.

“I do too, but if it’s more inclusive then you risk the privacy factor—and security.” Even pointed out, leaning back in his seat. 

Eskild shrugged. “You can’t market to everything and everyone, I think privacy is a factor for those that need a second life. I want this to be a place where people embrace themselves unashamedly, and can talk openly to newbies about… whatever,” he shrugged. “The security thing might be an issue though, if people want to start trouble—cos ignorance.” He chewed his lip, mulling the problem over.

“Well, it’s still inclusive if you have to buy tickets first, right?” Magnus said. Even found himself nodding along with Eskild, maybe he’d have some decent input. 

“That could work, even giving basic details puts assholes off.” Eskild remarked, he would have more knowledge here, already running the kind of venue they wanted to start up. 

“And if we just ask people to make an effort dresswise—have a dress code. Nothing strict, just you know, no trainers—the usual.” Even had seen people who just wanted to make trouble, it was usually random and thoughtless shit—mostly while drunk. The more preemptive steps you could put between them and trouble, the better, no matter how seemingly small the steps were. 

“Sounds good,” Eskild agreed. 

“And I might have connections to someone who has a venue, but I don't want them associating with anything that  _ Even  _ does,” he emphasised his own name, Eskild would know he meant as opposed to  _ Romeo, _ “So, once I've done some research I'll give you the leads to chase up,” he directed that at Eskild, unsure as to what role Magnus was going to play in this. He could merely want to invest. Even could also feel the frown directed at him from the words that must have been cryptic to Magnus. 

“If you're busy, I can chase leads.” So he was eager to be involved in the mechanics? Even was beginning to warm to Magnus. 

“Great, well we'll work out who's doing what when the ball gets rolling… considering we'll be seeing each other everyday, it'll be easy to task share,” Eskild stated. It was Even’s turn to frown now. “I'm moving in with him,” he added, noting the confusion. 

“Oh, that sounds cosy,” Even snorted. 

Eskild gave him a smirk. “You have a gutter mind, it's why I love you. But no, I couldn't throuple them, Vilde is all top and no switch or flip in sight. I don't think I'd last a week. Not to mention I'm not a breast man.” 

“That's not fair, she can be…  _ submissive _ ,” Magnus tried to argue, but he trailed off unsure of himself—it sounded more like a question than a statement. 

“It seemed to make sense, moving in—work wise and money wise,” Eskild picked up where Magnus was now cast adrift in his pondering again. 

“It does,” Even agreed. He was trying to figure out ways to have a bit of extra cash flowing, just to cover utilities, since he had cut down on his  _ evening _ work to focus on this venture and another more studious one. That card he held close to his chest; he didn't want anyone to find out. Not now, in any case.  

“Speaking of,” Magnus cut in, back in the room once more, “Any luck with Isak?” 

Eskild frowned, very real concern on his features. “No,” he said simply, but frustration tinged his words. 

“I feel so shitty about it.” And judging by the way Magnus looked suddenly uncomfortable, he was telling the truth. “I’m sure Eva and Jonas—” 

Eskild waved his sentence to a premature close. “No, no. He won't. They would have him, but he won't ask. Even if you had a spare room he wouldn't take it.” He shrugged, frustrated.” Relationships; I don't think he wants to live in such close contact with one.” And Eskild sighed heavily. This was a tense subject for them both. 

“Who's Isak?” Even asked, wading into the thoughtful lull in conversation. Someone steering clear of relationships sounded like a smart individual in his estimation. 

“Our friend; my flatmate,” Eskild answered, “We move out next week and he has nowhere to go.” 

“Student?” Even quizzed. Eskild nodded. “Can't he go to his parents?” And the vehement way they both shook their heads spoke volumes. 

“Well figure something out,” Magnus assured, but there was that unsure tone in his voice again that didn't exactly inspire confidence. The tense quiet descended again, there was more to this than met the eye. 

“Well, you know, with the work I'm cutting down on I need a bit of extra money. Just to make sure utilities are covered; I have a guest room I could rent out. I'm hardly at home anyway, so…” he trailed off, Eskild and Magnus were exchanging looks as if a miracle has been performed before their eyes. 

“Are you serious?” Eskild asked with a rare stern expression on his face, holding back any relief in case it was premature. 

Even nodded and grinned at the whooping noise that came from Magnus. “Just drop by, he can have a look around and see if he wants to take it. He's your friend right, so you can vouch for him?” It would work for him financially but he didn't want to be lumped with an asshole. 

And the pair were nodding vigorously now. “Oh, he's fine. I mean, he has issues but who doesn't?” 

“That's not exactly selling it, Eskild.” Even snorted a laugh. 

“Well, his problems aren't problems for you. It makes him a hermit focussed on nothing but his studies; so no partying or loudness and whatever. Deep down he's a great kid.”

Even chewed his lip. He supposed they wouldn't have been worrying quiet so much over someone not worth the concern. “OK, well if he wants the room, it's his.” Even was ambushed by the hug he didn't see coming as Magnus hurled himself full bodily against him, pushing him into Eskild as arms wrapped around him in a death grip. 

“Thank you,” Magnus spoke, words muffled against Even’s chest. 

Eskild just snickered and patted Even on the head, taking the gentle and patronising approach in contrast. “This is a life saver, Even, and you won't regret it. Or if you do you can have free beer for life from whatever bar I'm working.” 

Even was trying to pry himself from Magnus as he huffed a laugh himself. “If I'm investing in that bar, that doesn't quite work out.”

“Well, I'll have to make sure you don't regret it,” he replied with a wink. 

Finally Magnus sat upright, but still unnaturally close to Even. Pulling his phone from his pocket, he swiped across the screen to read a message. “They're here, oh you can meet Isak now,” he exclaimed excitedly. 

“Isak actually came?” Eskild asked, voice incredulous.

“I know, I think Noora worked some magic spell.” 

And Eskild hummed, smiling to himself fondly. “She does.” 

“Well, I have nothing else lined up—” Even didn't have any plans, so it was no big deal. But Eskild’s phone rang, cutting him off. 

“Hai,” he said quickly, once he’d answered the phone, and then a brief pause, “OK, I'm coming.” And like that the phone call was over. Turning back to them, Eskild stood. “I have to go, issues with stock—which means issues with people using their god damn eyes,” he sighed in annoyance before refocusing on them. “But we should catch up, maybe in two weeks— after all the moving is over with—and see where we’ve got. Magnus has been working on a website, too,” Eskild added, distracted now by preening himself before he’d waltz through his domain. 

“Oh, really?” Even asked, turning to the enthusiastic cuddler buttressed against him. But Magnus waved his hand like it was inconsequential. 

“Yeah, it's early stages but I should be able to put in some work before we catch up next.” 

Even nodded, impressed by the ground they could all cover. This could work. “Awesome.” 

“We should go meet the crew, I hope you're prepared,” Magnus said as he stood, Even followed suit. 

“I know some interesting people, I doubt they can scare me,” he replied, just as his own phone began to buzz. 

“Don't speak to soon,” Eskild muttered, flinging open the door and letting the music pour into the space, “I'll text about when’s good for our next meeting.” He threw the words over his shoulders before disappearing into the groups of people cluttered outside the room

Casting his eyes down, Even unlocked his phone. Mr Payday, as expected.

“I may have to take a rain check,” he said to Magnus who was waiting for him by the door. 

“Sure… something come up?” 

“Business,” Even replied with a grin, “but tell Eskild to let me know when he can drop by with Isak.” 

“Will do,” Magnus replied with a cheerful smile. “I better go, but it was great to meet you, Even. And thanks again.” 

“No problem,” he assured. And with a nod Magnus was lost to the crowd too. 

Looking back down at his phone, Even began to text back. Wandering out of the club, he was too submerged in his imminent plans to focus on any of the furore that surrounded him. Not the blonde chick at the bar with the sombre, dark guy, nor the colourful and clashing clan of girls hanging from Eskild, nor the quiet self conscious kid in the corner, wearing a cap and nursing a soft drink as he stood next to a girl in a headscarf, watching him with concerned eyes. 

No, in this minute he was Romeo and he was already focussing on how he would make Mr Paycheck’s whole month. 

###  Isak

“God Morgen, Isak.” 

Eskilds voice was much to bright, much too excitable for whatever time it was. And  _ he  _ was drinking last night, not Isak. And yet still, here Isak was, scowling and hiding under the duvet. Trying to scurry away from the problems tomorrow would bring. There was only a certain amount of time he could ostrich cheat life, but he figured five more minutes wasn't asking a lot. 

“Why are you up so early,” he groaned in reply, earning him a tut and a snicker. 

“Its already past midday. You need to be up… embracing life.” During the course of his sentence, Eskild had made it to the window and threw back the orange makeshift curtain—it was just a small throw but it did the job as well as anything else . “You need some air in here,” he muttered, opening the window one notch, before Isak felt his weight land on the mattress next to him. When Isak didn't respond, a boney elbow found its way into his side.

“Get off.” His grunt was mumbled into the duvet, but Eskild got the general idea judging by the fact he laughed a little harder and proceeded to throw himself onto the mound that was Isak. 

“Life is waiting, do you need me to make plans for you? I think I’d make a great PA.” Isak knew why he was so persistent, these little  _ life plan  _ talks were getting more frequent. Eskild was freaking out on Isak’s behalf over what he was going to do when the notice period ran out, which was now exactly six days away. It was touching in a way, but, fuck it, if his friends hadn't decided to just desert him like this he wouldn’t need to beg someone for a spare bed to crash on indefinitely.

“No, you wouldn't,” he retorted, throwing Eskild off his back as he pushed the duvet off his head, and sat with his back pressed to the wall. He had to squint, the autumn sun was always low in the sky and blinding whenever it wasn’t hidden by clouds, it was no less strong here than it would be standing outside. “I’m not interested in hand job Tuesdays, or group sex Fridays, so, I’ll pass.” 

“Don’t knock it until you've tried it,” he said, shouldering Isak as he settled next to him in bed. 

“I don't need to try it to know,” he frowned at Eskild as he hummed in reply, evidently not buying it. But they'd had this conversation, too, a million times by now. “ _ What _ ? Did you have to try and be with a girl to know you were gay?” 

“That’s hardly the same—”

“Why not?” Isak demanded, earning him an annoyingly knowing sidelong look. 

“Did you notice that guy last night?” 

Isak rolled his eyes and sighed heavily. Where was this tangent going? “ _ No.  _ No, I didn't. What about  _ that guy _ ?” 

“Short, dark, stocky but cute. He was Australian, I think, and he was interested in you. Point is, you don't even know who I'm talking about.” 

“So? That's not a point; I just don't care.” 

“Exactly. You think asexuals don't notice interest? You think they don't  _ want  _ interest? I mean Christ, they might even want sex, it's just a different thing to them. Being ace doesn’t mean you shun  _ any  _ form of connection, Isak—doesn’t mean you’re completely blind either.” 

Isak bit his lip. “And so every ace is the same? That's ignorant, Eskild. I'm asexual, aromantic—” 

“ _ A-fucking-interested _ ?” Eskild intercede with a smirk. He wasn't ignorant, they both knew what he was on to, but Isak just wished he'd leave it be. This was who he was right now, and he didn't care what anyone's opinion was. 

“Now you're getting it. So, fucking stop with this.” 

There was a pause, and Isak knew he was weighing up whether to push on the subject. “It's been almost six months now, you can't shut yourself off forever—” 

“ _ Eskild _ ,” he said, a hint of warning in his tone.

“ _ What _ ? You haven’t spoken about it once—to anyone. I know, I ask…  _ a lot _ .”

“My plans for today consist of studying with Sana, she's coming by after she drops off her mum at work,” Isak butted in and changed the subject, answering the earlier assumptions that he had no plans. He wasn’t willing to discuss that subject at all. And, yes, he could shut himself off forever. He didn't want anyone; he didn't need anyone. 

He also didn’t need to see Eskild to know his mouth was drawn in a tight line; he was sensitive enough to know he should tread carefully, and at the same time chomping at the bit to draw this out of Isak. The concern that Isak could feel mounting in his housemate over this was completely irritating. He was  _ fine _ . But the more he said that, the more Eskild looked like he was going to explode. Maybe no longer living together would be a good thing. 

But after a pensive moment, a smile split his face in two; he was willing to go with the subject change—for now at least. “My Princess of darkness is coming? Why didn’t you tell me?”

_ “Princess of darkness?” _

_ “ _ Yeah, you know: dark lipstick, dark clothes, dark humour. I love her,” he cooed. And he did, Isak was sure. They had become closer lately and they talked a lot more than they used to, looking quite the pair of conspirators. Between the two of them, Isak had literally—and completely by accident—found surrogate parents to replace the ones he’d cut off. On one hand, he had over enthusiastically bright and giddy, and on the other, logic and perception that silently cut through all of Isak’s bullshit—with just one look. 

“And I told you… I think. Anyway, I’m telling you now. She’ll be here around one. So, I need to shower.”

“On that we can agree with. You smell like the Devil’s armpit.”

“See, just when I think I’m going to miss you, you pull this shit,” Isak muttered, rolling out from under the covers and stumbling across the room to grab a towel. There was one hanging on his bedroom door, it would do. He was sure it was fresh.

“And then, we’re seeing Noora off, right?” It was a group affair, and it would be a quiet journey home afterwards.

“Yup.” Eskild sighed, evidently not enthused about that part of the day.

Towel in hand, Isak stood at the door and stared at Eskild, who seemed to be making himself at home in Isak’s bed. “ _ Out _ ,” he said, tilting his head at the doorway, to help Eskild find his way. But he only snuggled deeper.

“But it’s so soft and it smells of you,” he murmured back, eyes closed. 

“I thought you said I smelled like the Devil’s armpit?”

His eyes opened and he frowned at Isak. “Don’t kink shame me, Valtersen.”

Isak snorted a laugh. “Get out,” he urged again. “You know you can’t help yourself, you’ll be nosing through my things as soon as my back is turned and then I’ll have to get mad at you—and my head kinda hurts right now.”

“But you didn’t drink?”

“I know. I’m just not compatible with life, apparently.”

Eskild conceded and swung his legs down from the bed to make his way over to where Isak stood. “And you know I only stick my nose in for your own good, right? I just want you to be happy… and not on drugs,” he paused for a moment and shrugged, “Well, not  _ hard _ drugs. What sort of god-parent would I be if I didn’t invade your privacy?”

Isak rolled his eyes. Yes, he  _ would  _ find somewhere else to live—he had to. But with some god damn privacy.

* * *

As quick as he tried to be, by the time he was showered and dressed, rubbing a towel over his damp hair as he walked briskly down the hall to the kitchen, he could hear Sana and Eskild talking. Whatever they had been discussing, Isak would be ignorant of because they stopped as soon as they heard his footsteps draw near.

Sana tilted her head to one side and raised her eyebrows. “Good afternoon, Isak. You sure you want to study today? It's been a long weekend already.” And that was true, they hadn’t got home before 3AM, and the last he'd seen of the girls they’d been adamant they would be fine getting themselves home in a rogue shopping trolley with a wonky wheel. But he’d been sure to wait up for Eva’s text to let him know they were safe—it had come accompanied with a photo of girl-Chris passed out in the bathtub. But it had been a fun night, that he could admit to himself at least.

“I’m sure,” he murmured absentmindedly as he took a seat at the kitchen table. It didn’t matter to him that this was the first year of uni, nor that it was the first term. He was going to take this seriously, nothing was going to fuck up his studies this time. He’d barely managed to scrape together a high enough grade to get in at UiO. 

Eskild put the kettle on as Isak was spreading the course books out that he’d already laid on the table before he’d gone  to bed—preparation was the key to success.

“Tea?” he asked over his shoulder as Sana took the seat opposite Isak, pulling out her laptop and setting it on the table. 

“Please,” Sana said, “with one sugar; I’m still half asleep.” She caught a yawn with her hand to emphasise her point.

Isak looked up from his books to observe her. “Are you sure  _ you  _ want to study?” It was said with genuine concern. It had been a late night for everyone, Sana would have made sure the girls got home safe herself before driving back to her parents. Late except for Eskild, who seemed to need a maximum of three hours sleep to run at full capacity.

But she waved his notion away with the same hand. “It’s fine, it gives me a good excuse to avoid Yousef anyway.” She cast her eyes down to her laptop screen and her fingers began to click on the keyboard.

“Isak?” Eskild insisted.

“What? Oh, yeah. Tea, thanks. Sugar, milk,  _ blah-blah-blah _ .” 

He grunted at Isak’s flippancy, but carried on regardless.

“Why are you avoiding Yousef?” He would have hushed his voice, but Sana didn’t seem to mind talking about things in front of Eskild. He was pretty sure she spoke directly to him about personal stuff like this.. 

She snorted a delicate laugh in a way only Sana could. “Oh, it’s nothing. He’s trying to make meatballs like my mum does, and he’s only gonna get pissed he can’t get it right. Well, not  _ right _ —exactly the same. And she won’t give him the recipe. It amuses her no end, but  _ I _ only hear the bitching, despite the fact I’m eating the stuff like a pig while he’s ranting about what he used too much of, or whatever.” 

Isak grinned at that. It was nice, they got on, had domestic irritation and yet it was still cute. And they all got on like a family. Something he could admire from afar, but never entertained for himself. “How’s your mum?”

Sana shrugged, looking up at him. “Same: overtired, overworked, overstressed.”

“They need to hire more nurses,” Isak offered, it was probably the thousandth time he’d uttered that same thing but it didn’t make it any less true. The hospice was always short of staff, Sana’s mum was frequently running longer shifts than she should. Sometimes they would end up studying in Sana’s car waiting for her to clock off from her shift.

She shrugged again. “Yeah, that’s part of it.” 

“What else is going on?”

She sighed. It wasn’t just that Sana would hear her mum’s tales at the end of the shifts, she’d experience them too, sometimes rolling her own sleeves up to help out if it needed doing. “They just have a few too many patients that are very difficult to handle. There’s one lady—she isn’t even that old—dying of alcohol abuse. But she’s not there—mentally. She yells and screams and throws and breaks things; it’s too much for some of the nurses, physically and mentally. Some of the stuff she says...” she trailed off, shaking her head whilst leafing through a text book.

“Don’t the family help?”

“No one visits. She has a son, he comes to pay the bills  _ and  _ excess damage from time to time, but he doesn’t see her.”

“That’s fucking heartless.” Isak was sure in that position, he would have put his own issues aside and gone to look after his mum. The notion made guilt pull at his gut, but he pushed the emotion away. She probably wouldn’t do the same for him. 

He realised that Sana was giving him a hard stare across the table. “Maybe. Maybe not. You don’t know what brought them to that point.”

Isak shrugged, it was hypothetical anyway. It’s not like they would know the details. “Well, if your mum needs one of my famous foot massages, she has my number.” 

“I’ll let her know,” she smirked, having found it amusing in the first place to find her mum comfortably sprawled over Isak, whilst he rubbed her feet. He used to do that for his mum at the end of a long day.

Two mugs were placed on the table, the tea so high that it spilt over the rim. “Here,” Eskild announced, “and what’s this Isak? You a masseuse now?”

Isak rolled his eyes. “Of course you would go there.”

“Well I have many people I could send your way as clients, I bet you’re good with your hands.” He winked at Isak, and there was no come back here that would work. Anything Isak said would be used against him, Eskild possessed a unique super power of turning the most inane sentence into a double entendre. 

Eskild opened his mouth to add more, as he sat with them at the table, with his own mug in front of him, but Sana cut him off clearing her throat. “Anyway, how's astrophysics going? Am I missing anything good?”

“It’s kinda early to say, but I think I like it; there’s a lot to get my head around.” It was true and he wished Sana was taking those modules with him to bounce ideas and theories off. Maybe she could help him anyway, but that was a lot to ask when her own workload was as gigantic as his own. But as it was, around sixty percent of their modules were shared, which was good enough. Isak wasn’t good with new people, so he hadn’t made any friends in the subjects he was flying solo in. 

“Good,” she said with a small smile, he knew her well enough to know something was coming. And with Eskild sat at the table, silently watching the exchange for once, he was pretty much sure he knew what it was. “Have you found a place yet?”

Isak slumped back in his seat. He usually liked being right. “No, not yet. But I will.” 

Sana pursed her lips. “Isak you have five days to find somewhere.”

“Six,” he corrected and earned himself a frown that scalded better than words. 

“You can't include your move out date. That's impractical.” 

He shrugged. “Something will come up.” He continued flicking through the course book, trying to signal that he no longer wanted to talk about this subject. But he knew he wasn't about to be that lucky.

She sighed irritably with his dismissive attitude. “And you’re sure you can't stay with Jonas and Eva?” 

Isak gave her a look that was equal parts amused and disbelieving. “What and be like that movie… what was it. With the married couple and the best friend— _ Marley and Me _ .” 

Eskild snorted into his tea and Isak was grateful that the bemused expression Sana sported was now on him. “You mean  _ Me, You and Dupree. Marley and Me _ is the one with the dog.” 

Isak shrugged. “Same guy, same concept, right?” 

Eskild blinked. “Owen Wilson… I guess it is.” 

“So my point still stands; they just got engaged. I'm not crashing that, for my sake as well as theirs. Also, those are terrible movies, Eskild. I'm judging you for your on hand knowledged of them.”  

He just tipped his head in acceptance. “Owen Wilson is cute, what can I say?” 

“Anyway,” Sana interrupted, trying to bring order to the table, “Isak, if you can't find anywhere you'll have nowhere to go but your parents.”  

“Death first,” Isak replied, defiance and derision in his voice. But his body tensed at the mere suggestion. 

“ _ Princess Bride _ .” Eskild cut back in with the movie trivia. 

“Yup,” Isak agreed, sipping his tea. It was way too sweet but having not eaten anything since last night's impromptu fry up he wasn't complaining. 

“Cary Elwes—my first love.” 

“You and Mahdi need to have a trivia off,” Isak suggested over the rim of his mug.

“Bring it—” 

“ _ Eskild,”  _ Sana exclaimed, exasperation clear as day. But the one word brought him to heel, as he nodded to her life a footman to his dignitary. 

“Sorry, my Princess, it's just the masks do something—” and he made a zipping noise as he motioned his lips being sealed when she stared his sentence to an end. 

She nodded perfunctorily before turning back to Isak. “I don't want you to be out on the streets,” she picked up her own mug and took a sip, trying not to wince as she did so. It looked like she had too much sugar too. “I'll help you. I wish you could stay at mine but my mum already bends her rules for you. I don't want to push any more.” 

Isak shook his head. He didn't want to be an encumbrance to them, they already did enough. And plus, her parents were very casual and nonchalant about him being gay. But they looked at him at times, when they heard about the stress it caused him, with an unspoken question as to why Isak couldn't just  _ not _ be gay and save himself the trouble. It wasn't a personal thing, it was generational, he got that. But it sure as hell would get old if he had to live with that. 

“You already do enough,” he said, smiling at her. And that was the honest truth. 

But she simply looked dissatisfied with that conclusion. “Magnus and Vilde have no more space, seeing as Eskild has nabbed their spare.” And Eskild shrugged apologetically into the pause.

“Sorry, its just with the business—” 

Isak waved his apologies away. He knew it, he understood and he wasn't remotely disgruntled with it. Again, the idea of third wheeling was not a pleasurable one. 

“So, what options are there?” Sana spread her hands in front of her and Isak frowned, like he was supposed to pull something out of a magic hat. Every friend, for one reason or another, couldn't accommodate him. And that was fine, they all had genuine reasons. He wasn't mad at anyone. But there were no other options. 

“Maybe Anker Hostel?” he mused even though he knew that wouldn't work. As cheap as it was, it would still end up being too expensive long term. 

Sana made a dismissive noise that voiced his thoughts entirely. “That's not even an option, it's hardly long term and it's hardly secure. You'd have all your belongings. No.” She finished the sentence with finality, just like she was his mum. “And there's no one at uni that's mentioned anything about a spare room?”

“No,” he sighed. Not that he'd really been paying much attention to any of his new classmates. But Isak began to bristle now; this wasn't unchartered territory, they knew this was the case. Retreading old ground with no new solution in sight was stressing him out.

“Anyway—” he stated, flipping the pages in his book with more force than was necessary. Hopefully they would get the hint, but Eskild picked up where Sana had left off. 

“I might have a lead,” he said casually.  _ Too _ casually. 

“If it's any of your  _ friends _ then no. Right, Sana?” He turned back to her, fully expecting her to support the prospect of Isak moving in with one of Eskild’s shady acquaintances from the club—which he was sure this friend must be from, given as that's where he spent most of his time, working on his big plans. 

But she simply pursed her lips thoughtfully. “Lets not be hasty, it's not like we have any other options.” 

Isak gaped at her open mouthed before he finally remember how to speak. “It could be any fucking weirdo.” It was hardly diplomatic, but there it was. 

“I wouldn't let you go live with any weirdos, Isak. What kind of friend do you think I am? You'd be out there spoiling all their weird and wonderful fun with your gloomy little cloud of boring.” Eskild said with a grin. 

“Fuck you, I am  _ not _ boring.”

“ _ Stop _ ,” Sana shouted, slapping the table top with her palm loud enough to make both men jump. “Isak, you should go see the this place. Grünerløkka is a great location.” 

Isak frowned at her. “Eskild didn't say where it was.” 

There was only a hair's breadth of hesitation as Sana blinked. “Eskild may have mentioned it while you were showering.”

“Just in passing,” Eskild added quickly.

Isak rolled his eyes, so they had purposefully strung together this conversation to get Isak to this point. “I'm not a fucking child, you don't have to manipulate conversations to get me to do what you think’s best,” he said hotly, dividing a glare between them both whilst they looked at each other and him in a way that said—quite frankly—they did not agree.

“That's that then,” Sana said to Eskild, ignoring Isaks appeal. “He'll never go now he's figured us out. He's too stubborn. You may as well text your friend—”

“I'm  _ not _ stubborn, and you can text your friend and tell them I'll come and see the room as soon as it's convenient.” He crossed his arms over his chest, turning to shoot Sana a satisfied smirk at proving her wrong. But it was when she mirrored his smug expression that he realised he’d proven them right. Apparently he did need to be manipulated into doing the sensible thing.  

“Perfect,” she said, before turning to the workbook in front of her. “Shall we study if you two are done gossiping?” 

And what could Isak do but sigh, shake his head and do as he was told?


	3. Chapter Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Is Wednesday OK?”
> 
> Eskild’s eyebrows rose. “You guys have decided already?” Isak and Even both nodded.
> 
> “There wasn't much to discuss, it works out for us both,” Even said simply. And it was as simple as that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the wait.... it ended up sprawling so... sorry for the 14k word chapter?
> 
> Enjoy!  
> Becs

##  Chapter Two

###  Even

Even had just stepped out of the shower when the door buzzer sounded; it was a jarring noise that went off seldomly enough for Even to remember he intended to change the sound it made. It couldn't be that hard to do. 

Frowning to himself, he padded down the hallway with a towel around his waist and another draped over his shoulders. His brain still hadn't come up with any leads as to who the mysterious visitor was when he reached the entry phone.

“Yeah?” he asked into the receiver once it was pressed to his ear. There was silence and then shuffling, before someone whispered pretty fucking loudly.

“ _ Is it the right one? _ ”

“Even?” The second voice spoke up and that one he recognised. That's when he remembered: Eskild and the guy looking for a room.

“Fuck, sorry Eskild. I forgot.”

“You want us to come later?”

“No, no, no. It's cool, come up.” And with that, he pressed the door release button. He heard an exasperated sigh, which he didn't think was Eskild, before he put down the phone.

By the time he'd thrown on some joggers and a hoodie, there was a knock on the apartment door. Then he was striding barefoot across wooden flooring and flinging it open to find a familiar wide grin on the other side.

Eskild barrelled into him, wrapping himself around Even in a familiar hug. “Good morning, Queen,” he sang cheerily. 

He snorted at the term. “That’s fucking rich.”

Eskild tutted at him. “I  _ wish _ I was as fabulous.” He shrugged his shoulders having released Even from the death grip hug. Then he strode past him and into the flat like he owned the place. This was Eskild, of course he would.

“Naturally, it's a penthouse,” he announced after a brief three sixty observation, which was simply him spinning on his heel, with a flourish like the showman he was. “In fact, I think  _ I _ should be moving in. Oh, I brought vodka.”

Even’s brows knitted together as he looked at the clock hung in the kitchen. “It's not midday yet.”

“Well, as my aunt always says:  _ “Somewhere in the world it's happy hour”,”  _ he paused for a moment before elaborating, “or maybe it's me that says that. Anyway.” His hand gestured back at the door he'd just exploded through, “Isak, Even; Even, Isak.”

Right. He'd completely forgotten there was anyone else in the room, having been taken off guard by the whole larger than life Eskild fanfare. And he remembered making the arrangement, he'd just forgotten to put it in the diary. That was unlike him, but with all the different—and completely unrelated—areas of his working life going on right now, things were bound to be forgotten here and there.

Turning back to the door, he took in his new potential flatmate for the first time. The first thing that stood out was how uncomfortable he looked. Isak was still shuffling about at the doorway, not entirely sure whether to step through or not. His eyes darted about as if he was expecting an ambush, but Even could make out that they were green… or maybe hazel. His hair was a straggle of blond curls, it looked in desperate need of a trim—maybe some gel. And he was dressed typically studentish: jeans, hoodie, jacket, cap. There was something flighty about him, and—along with his messy hair and wide eyes—he looked like a baby bird. And that was that, that was his nickname.

“Hi,” he just about caught himself from calling baby bird by his newly acquired name. Something held him back from teasing like he would do with anyone else, this kid already looked on the defensive. Well, he wasn't a kid, but the way he shrunk in on himself made him seem like one. And there was no point in pissing him off, not when it would work out for Even if he decided to take the room.

“Hi.” Somehow Isak’s tone sounded bored and Even couldn't help but chuckle, that earned him a severe scowl. So, he cleared his throat and gestured inside.

“Come in,” he offered.

Isak ducked his head in what might have been thanks before he wandered warily past Even. He continued to watch baby bird carefully plod around the open plan living space with a grave look on his face, like he was carrying out a health and safety audit. Everything about Isak seemed down played, they couldn't be more opposite in that regard. Even felt a tug of curiosity, but people always made him curious—he liked to know how people ticked, why they worked the way they did.

While Eskild banged around in the kitchen looking for glasses, Even followed the tracks Isak had made, coming to stop behind him by the sliding doors to his balcony. Squinting over his head he tried to see what Isak was looking so hard at. But before Even figured it out, baby bird jumped about a foot in the air when he realised Even was so close behind him.

Spinning around, Isak grappled for words before launching into a sentence like they'd been in the middle of a conversation. “I like my space—and privacy,” he said, and defensively enough that Even held his hands up in a passive gesture. He hadn’t meant to spook the kid.

“Me too,” Even reassured, “and the second room is large enough that you can study and whatever in there.” He paused to shrug, it really was just a matter of convenience for both of them. They didn't even need to spend any time together. “I'm not around much; busy most days and evenings.” He added a smile, but the words alone made Isak’s eyes light up.

“So it would be just me most of the time?”

“Yep, and I don't bring anyone back to the flat. But I don't care if you do, just—you know—be respectful? No fucking in my bed,” he laughed softly but pulled up short when another dire expression crossed Isak’s face. He opened his mouth to retort but the clink of glasses silenced whatever Isak intended to say and announced Eskild’s victory at finding drinking vessels.

“Don't worry. Isak’s ace, isn't that right? Asexual, aromatic, afun…”

“Oh,” Even said, not puzzled by the statement but more the glare that Isak sent Eskild, and which was soundly ignored. “Well, I don't fucking care what you are, or what you do. As long as you're chill; I’ll get enough fun for the both of us.”

Isak turned to stare warily at him. “Thanks,” he said slowly, like he was waiting for a trap to spring. Even simply shrugged and tried not to grin too wide, that might make baby bird suspicious for no apparent reason whatsoever.

“It's no big deal,” he said as Eskild handed him one of the two glasses. He studied the drinks—clear, straight vodka almost half filling them both. “What about Isak’s?”

“He doesn't drink—I told you; no fun.”

“I’m literally right here,” Isak piped up, but now he was wandering around the perimeter of the room, perusing the framed prints on the sky blue walls and the handful of ornaments dotted around that Even had accrued. He didn't really like clutter.

“You don't drink?” Even asked him, he simply shook his head. “Christ, a student that doesn't drink? Is this a sign of the apocalypse?”

Eskild snorted a laugh and he thought he saw the corners of Isak’s mouth pull up in a near smile. “My godchild is very responsible, aren't you?”

Isak rolled his eyes. That seemed like quite a natural expression for baby bird and for whatever reason it made Even grin. “I just want to do well, at uni,” he said earnestly. There was nothing wrong with taking your goals seriously, Even could relate.

“That's understandable. I won’t stand in your way. Anyway, my idea of fun is different from the next person’s idea of fun. And, you know…” he trailed off, frowning at himself and this strange urge to try and make this kid feel less defensive. But he looked like he was struggling with something that Even was obviously ignorant of; Even knew what it was like to struggle.  

Isak just nodded, looking dumbfounded, which Even decided was better than him looking defensive. “Thanks,” he murmured. Well, it didn’t look like Isak was going to orate a game changing piece of rhetoric anytime soon, but Even could get on with anyone. Loud, quiet, logical, emotional; they were all just people, at the end of the day.

“I’ll show you the room, it might not be to your standards,” he said, with a grin. Isak hesitated for a moment before letting out a nervous laugh and following on Even’s heels.

“It's… er… nicer than anything I'm used to.” Isak offered in the way of assurance after Even’s quip.

He simply shrugged at the remark. “It's not all that big but it's everything I need. And I think it's enough for us to both get on with our lives and not step on each other's toes.” He reached the door of the guest room and pushed it open with his free hand, standing back to let Isak scuttle past him.

He stood in the middle of the room and turned slowly, an unreadable expression on his face. For once, Even found himself wondering what exactly someone was thinking—he could usually read people well enough to know. But Isak seemed to be wrapped in so many layers of protection, it absorbed whatever response he was having before it touched his features.

The guest room was decent enough: neutral furnishings, double bed, large desk space, and built in storage space. One wall was mostly window, it showed blue sky and nothing more right now; they were up high enough to see over most of the city.

“The window is north facing, so that's shitty. And there's no en-suite, but I have one so the bathroom is pretty much yours—it's the next room down the hall. I have a bath from time to time, but other than that…” Even trailed off, scratching his chin and wondering why he felt the need to fill the quiet with words and why it sounded like he was trying to sell this place, or justify someone else’s residence here.  _ Money _ —he needed the added security, that was it.

Isak was just shaking his head. “I'm not bothered about the light, I don't open the curtains much anyway. And I've never had an en-suite, so I wasn't expecting one… can I see the bathroom?” he asked, hands on his hips and a serious expression aimed at Even. Even had to school his features to neutral because there was just something in Isak’s mannerisms that he found intensely amusing. Like watching a five year old acting like a sage old man.

“Sure,” Even replied, turning to lead the short way to the next room. The door was already open. He gestured inside, holding in a laugh when Isak skirted around him like he might hurt himself if they passed too close to one another.

He did his little stand and turn again, planted in the middle of the bathroom. This time Even found himself somberly musing; what had happened to make him so closed off? And the way Eskild and Magnus seemed to speak about him so protectively only added to his curiosity. Eskild had mentioned that whatever issues Isak had, they wouldn't infringe upon Even. If he was as insular as he seemed that was certainly true. 

But now Even felt a tug of concern; Isak was only a couple of years younger than himself, he should be having fun and enjoying his life. Even wasn't about to probe, it just wasn't his nature. Maybe living here would allow baby bird enough space to spread his wings?

Even realised he'd been staring at Isak and now Isak was frowning back at him.

“ _ What _ ?” he said, smoothing down his t-shirt and glimpsing in the mirror at his reflection, trying to discern what Even had been staring at.

“Nothing, sorry I was just thinking—I got lost. You like it?”

Isak flushed red and stuttered out something that might have been words until he managed to get a legible sentence out. “ _ What? _ No, of course I don't like being stared at.” His feathers were quite literally ruffled and Even pressed his lips tightly together, trying to repress his mirth again.

“No, I meant the bathroom,” he gestured with his hand to the room that Isak had been scrutinizing. He blinked before seeming to realise where he was again.

“Oh, yeah.” He put his hands on his hips and then crossed them over his chest before changing his mind again and thrusting them into his pockets, not sure what to do with himself. “It's nice, really… nice.”

“ _ Nice _ ?” Eskild said incredulously from over Even’s shoulder, peering into the black and white tiled room. Both Isak and Even jumped at the intrusion. “It's palatial compared to our flat.”

“Fuck, dude. You can't just creep around like that,” Even exclaimed, shoving gently at Eskild’s shoulder, as he craned his neck to get a better view.

“I wasn't creeping,” he replied absentmindedly before focussing on Even again. “If he doesn't want it, I'll take it. I saw the room,” he turned to address Isak now, “lots of surface area, if you know what I mean.” He finished the statement with a smirk.

Isak rolled his eyes again. “For all the studying I'll be doing.”

“Sure,” Eskild retorted, “studying so  _ hard.” _

“You're actually hopeless,” Isak sighed, walking towards the door and flattening himself sideways so he didn't need to touch either man flanking the exit as he departed. This time Even couldn't hold back his laughter, although he tried to hide it behind his hand, Isak caught it and sent him back a scathing glare. “And you're not much better.” The reprimand was all Even’s and he choked on his indignation.

“ _ What did I do _ ?” But the laughter was still in his voice, Even couldn't deny that for whatever reason this was entertaining.

But his question wasn't answered, Isak just powered back down the hall to the living space. Even almost ran into his back when he stopped dead to scan the kitchen for a quietly observant moment before he burst back into conversation.

“I have a schedule—for cooking and washing and  _ stuff.” _

“ _ Stuff _ ,” Even repeated, trying to keep his face straight. Hazel-green eyes deadpanned him, making Even clear his throat. “Sure, whatever makes you comfortable.”

Isak nodded. “I'll print it out.”

“You can stick it on the fridge if you want.” Even meant it as a joke but the enthusiastic nod baby bird was still giving told him it was taken seriously.

“Good idea.”

Even hesitated, not sure where to take this. A schedule? He didn’t even think he had magnets, where did you buy fucking fridge magnets? But then he realised that Isak had made up his mind—that took prominence. “So you'll take it?”

Isak turned to him, looking Even up and down like he might have issues with comprehension. “I don’t really have much choice,” he muttered, scrubbing a hand through his hair. “That’s if you want me?”

Again, Even found himself hesitating. Under normal circumstance he would have no problem taking the innocent question/statement hybrid and putting a less than innocent spin on it. But something stopped him, Isak just didn’t seem like he was going to take well to that kind of teasing. But the pause in response allowed Isak to understand the notion without Even having to say a word. His face flushed red again, Even noted all the way to the tips of his ears.

“ _ Want me to take the room _ —you know what I meant.” And his chin tipped up definitely enough that Even took a step back.

“I got it, I didn’t say a word.” He wanted to add that perhaps it might be Isak who had the dirty mind, but that would probably exacerbate the issue. Palms brandished, Even tried to look as placating as possible. “And, sure, I want you here—no problems this end.”

Isak was simply nodding, mouth open and making a low strangled noise in his voice. Even was pretty sure he was trying to figure out what to say next. Conversation didn't come easily to him, and that was fine, Even was good at talking. If he could make Isak feel comfortable, Even was sure  _ no one _ could resist his charms.

“You just let me know what day you want to move your stuff in and I'll make myself scarce, unless you need a hand.” He shrugged and put his glass of untouched vodka down on the table before he leant against the kitchen worktop, relaxed and approachable—he hoped.

“Wednesday?” Isak shot back quickly, his shoulders dropping slightly with the tension he was slowly releasing.

“Sounds good,” Even replied, “and you need a hand?”

But Isak was shaking his head before the question was asked. “No-no. No. I'm OK. There's not much and Eskild is gonna help, so two sets of hands should be enough. I think.”

“Well I'll give you this now,” He dug into his pocket and pulled out the spare keys, tossing them at Isak, who barely caught them with both hands. “I'm usually out from around 9AM, and I probably won't be back until Thursday afternoon so you have some time to settle.”

“Oh,” Isak shifted his eyes around the room, looking unsure, Even wasn't sure whether it was an exclamation of surprise or disappointment. “That's good, that will be… nice. Space.”

Even felt his lips twitch, wanting to smile again. It was like there was an internal debate going on inside of Isak while his face stayed unreadable. He was sure he’d never met anyone else that felt like a tornado trapped inside of a very blank and obtuse bottle. Except the irritation he felt at others—that he shared freely.

“And if you need anything you can text me, just get my number from Eskild. OK?”

Isak nodded slowly. “OK,” he said finally before Eskild strode back into the room, putting down his empty glass and exchanging it for Even’s. “The early bird…” he mused, taking a sip and cutting short the phrase he was uttering.

“That doesn't make any sense in this context, Eskild,” Isak stated, and mirroring what Even had been thinking.

He just shrugged. “You snooze you lose? Either way it's mine now.” Even snorted a laugh before Eskild continued. “Oh, and the toilet is comfortable, I took it for a test drive. You're welcome.”

Isak just rolled his eyes. “Is Wednesday OK?”

Eskild’s eyebrows rose. “You guys have decided already?” Isak and Even both nodded.

“There wasn't much to discuss, it works out for us both,” Even said simply. And it was as simple as that.

“Wednesday is fine,” Eskild said, before he pouted and cast Isak a mournful gaze. “My child is growing up,” he added with an exaggerated sniff. Even was sure the emotions implied were genuine though.

But Isak just shook his head and stared back, eyebrows drawn together. “Jesus Christ, when did everyone get so god damn sentimental. It's not like you're gonna leave me in peace anyways. I'm sure you'll need to take the bathtub for a test drive, too,  _ for my own good. _ ” The last line was mimicked in an Eskildesque way.

“That's  _ such  _ a good idea, thanks for the invite, Isak—and I'd love to.” Eskild was grinning at Isak who just looked utterly unimpressed. But Even doubted he was as nonchalant at the set of circumstances as he was letting on, and he wondered whether Isak let himself feel—or acknowledged what he was feeling—before pulling himself back from that trail of thought. He wasn't going to get involved, people were entitled to their issues.

“I’ll make sure I stock up on bubble bath,” Even quipped.

“ _ And _ candles,” Eskild added, giving him a look of feigned reprimand, “Oh,” he added excitedly, some thought popping into his head, “Isak is apparently famous for his foot rubs too,” he stated, before continuing tartly, “So I hear— _ I’ve _ never had one. Maybe you could benefit from that, considering you’re offering such a good deal here, Even.” He gestured at the flat in general and smirked back at Isak who looked mortified.

“ _ It was only Sana’s mum _ —” Isak began, flustered tongue springing to his own defence.

“Who’s Sana?” Even thought that perhaps butting in might cut the boiling tension, before Isak began to steam physically from the ears.

“My study partner— _ and  _ friend. She’ll probably be around.” But Isak hadn’t let go of his vehemence, his words clipped and heated. Even had never really liked bossy before, being so independent himself, but this kind of erratic severity that baby bird channelled didn’t seem to irritate him. The only issue he would have was keeping his face straight.

“That’s fine. Like I said, you can do what you want, just be respectful.” The response seemed to dry Isak’s words, and he nodded. Even imagined there were four or five separate strands of conversation going on internally.

“And you’re sure about the rent? Two thousand is really low.” He frowned at Even, as if he expected him to turn into some monster that survived solely on the blood of asexuals and, now he had Isak within his grasp, was about to pounce.

“I’m sure,” he said, measuring out a small smile so as not to look, in any way, suspicious. “I just need to cover my utilities, that’s all. Oh, and the mailbox is on the bottom floor, so we’ll take turns bringing it up. That’s all I ask; a cleaner comes once a week so you don’t even have to worry too much about that side of things.”

_ “You have a cleaner?”  _ Isak asked incredulously, Even nodded, bemused. Why wouldn’t he have one?

“Yeah, why?”

“It’s just—” Isak stuttered, “It’s kinda ridiculous to have a cleaner when it’s just you… and you say you aren’t around much, anyway. It’s a waste of money.”

“It’s just one less thing to worry about—I’m busy.”

Isak was shaking his head, but seemed to let it drop for now. Even got the distinct impression that he hadn’t heard the last on that matter.

“You two can have all the lovers’ tiffs that you want after Wednesday,” Eskild stated, downing the last of the vodka and making a matching pair out of the empty glasses. “I have work,” he glanced down at his watch, “In a few hours.”

“You have work?” It was Even’s turn to sound surprised now. Eskild hummed a yes. “But you just drank, like… that was  _ at least _ four shots.”

Eskild just gave him a flat stare. “I work in a bar, Even, if you hadn’t forgotten. It’s expected. What’s the saying? Never trust a skinny chef? So, by extension, you should never trust a sober bar manager. Come on, Isak—you have cleaning to get on with if you want your deposit back.” And then Even was enveloped in another clinging, vodka soaked, hug before Eskild was striding towards the door. “And we should party here one night, Even. You’ve been holding out on us.”

“In your fucking dreams,” Even snorted.

Eskild shot a smirk over his shoulder, giving Even a deliberate once over. “There’s a lot that goes on in my dreams.” And then he disappeared through the door, with just as much aplomb as he’d arrived.

Even blinked when he remembered that Isak was still there, shuffling from one foot to the other and hesitant about what he should actually do next. “So, I  _ won’t  _ see you Wednesday… but I’ll be here. Wednesday. So, I guess until then. Or Thursday.”

Nodding, Even continued to smile. Nervous, bumbling, bossy, socially challenged, baby bird. He’d never met a creature quite like Isak before. “Thursday, and if you need anything, just let me know—Eskild has my number.”

“I know, you said.” Isak stated.

“Right. Well, I’ll be seeing you soon…  _ roomie _ .” The last word was added testily, he wasn’t entirely sure how Isak was going to take to friendly terms. Not that roomie was overly friendly, but Even felt awkward—for once in his life. He didn’t want to just say  _ Isak _ , it seemed too formal, like a handshake. And they would be living together. This was already complex.

Isak had begun to creep towards the door. “Yeah, I will— _ you _ will. See me that is… OK. Bye.”

“Bye,” he replied, just as the door was closing.

Even listened to the footsteps that retreated from his door and ran a hand through his hair, it was still damp. All that had taken place in such a short space of time his hair hadn’t even had a chance to dry. He let out a breath he didn’t realise he was holding, he could live with someone. It was no big deal.

Even had the feeling that his life was about to change dramatically.

###  Isak

“I don't know about this.”

Eskild let out a heavy sigh, and even though Isak was looking down at his feet, he knew that Eskild had dropped his head back to let out his exasperation to the sky.

“ _ What _ ? What is wrong?” he said each word deliberately.

Isak shrugged. “I don’t know, it just doesn’t seem me. He has marble countertops and a fucken balcony. And the bathroom fixtures are all silver.”

Snorting, Eskild pushed against Isak’s shoulder with a hand. “That’s not silver, that’s what steel looks like fucking polished— _ because he has a cleaner _ .”

“Exactly, he has a cleaner. Just himself, and he has a cleaner. Who does that?”

“Busy people that can’t be bothered to polish their own taps, Isak. And you know these are excuses. Your brain is finding some way to reject this, for whatever reason. I think you just like sabotaging yourself.” He mused, quite like he was a councillor and discussing Isak like an experiment.

“I do not,” Isak hit back hotly, “I’m trying to be careful. You don’t really know him, and I don’t at all. What if he—”

“Kills people and eats them? At least you’ll be served on some fancy plates. I bet he would present you really well, too—no gaudy apple in your mouth. You’d be all medium-rare fillets and tongue carpaccio, served with complimentary wine. It would have to be something really sweet to counter your saltiness.”

Isak glared at Eskild who was busy grinning at his own absurd imagination. “You know what I mean. You can’t have known him that long—” Isak began to defend his valid point, because it was just that—how could they know he wasn’t involved in anything dodgy? He was only a few years older than Isak, the same age as Eskild, and he had a penthouse. That was questionable on its own. But he cut off mid flow when he saw something close to guilt pass over Eskild’s features.

“I’ve known him about six months now, and he’s fine, Isak. I wouldn’t be going into business with him otherwise.”

Isak stopped dead in his tracks.  _ “You’re doing what?” _

“It's no big deal, he's the third party,” Eskild replied, shrugging as he turned to face Isak. He knew there was someone else apart from Magnus and Eskild involved in the plans, but Isak was so focussed on his own work that he really had no idea of the finer details in anyone's plans right now. And he supposed that they wouldn't want to go in with someone they didn't trust, but he wasn't just going to let that sway his irritation.

“So, you  _ are _ gonna be there all the time?” he accused.

Eskild tsked at him. “For Christ sake, Isak. We've been meeting at the club up until now, that's not gonna change just cos you're there. And I won't come over at all if you're gonna be so shitty about it. I don't wanna  _ force  _ myself on you.” He was pissed now. Turning from Isak, Eskild strode down the road towards their soon-to-be old apartment.

Collecting himself, Isak jogged to catch up and fell into step with him. “I didn't mean it like that—” he began.

“I know,” Eskild interrupted before sighing out his ire before shaking his head, a crooked fond smile pulling at his lips. “You need to stop stressing— _ about everything _ .”

Isak opened and then closed his mouth. That was easy enough to say, but how did you go about that? “It's just a lot of change.” And that was about all he could think to say, it was becoming more and more apparent that the rigid routines he adhered to, and his unwillingness to step out of his comfort zone, helped him feel in control. And this move held so many invariables that he couldn't estimate or calculate. With all the things that annoyed him about living where he did, it was tried and tested. And he liked more things than he disliked about the situation. There was no way to know what would come after Wednesday, there were no preparations he could make.

“You might hate to hear it, Isak, but we care about you. And I'm not inviting myself over because I want to encroach on your privacy, it's because I want to make sure you're OK— _ that _ and the bathtub.” He added the last words with a smirk and Isak felt a weak laugh bubble from his chest, which was rare nowadays. It released a small measure of tension. “It's what friends do— _ no,  _ it’s what family does.” He hooked an arm over Isak’s shoulders pulling him into a sideways hug as they walked.

“Thank you,” Isak murmured.

Eskild paused and his thoughts were very nearly audible as they were turned over in his head. “If you really aren't comfortable you don't have to move there, I'm sure we can figure something out. I think we still have that blow up mattress, you could crash in my room at Vilde and Magnus’…” but he trailed off as he felt Isak shaking his head.

“It's OK. You're right about this. I'm just—” scared was the right word but he didn’t want to admit that to anyone but himself. “It’s all new.”

Eskild snorted a laugh. “I’m  _ always  _ right, I’m surprised you haven’t figured that out yet—you’re usually so smart.” Isak cut his mirth short by sending an elbow into his side.

“Even when you decided to try that burger pizza?”

“That  _ was _ disgusting, but it was a little thing called experimentation. I thought you would know all about that, being a scientist.” He punctuated the sentence with a wet kiss pushed onto Isak’s forehead.

Squirming out of the hug, Isak wiped the kiss’s residue away, grimacing at Eskild while he did so. Eskild was grinning with amusement, as usual, while digging in his pocket for the key. “It doesn’t take a scientist to know gherkins don’t go on pizza—why would you dishonour them like that?” It had been gross, Isak wasn’t sure who had dreamt that combination up but they should probably be banned from the food industry for life.

“You and gherkins,” Eskild murmured, as they stopped at the front door and he pushed the key into the lock. “I feel like your celibate ass makes an exception for them.”

“Whatever helps you get off at night, Eskild…” he mused, sliding through the door after him.

Eskild made a thoughtful noise. “Haven’t tried that one yet, but it could work. Sometimes new is good.”

* * *

“Huygens’ theory.” Sana stated as a question, before staring across the table expectantly.

Frowning, Isak scratched the nape of his neck with the tip of his pen before sliding it behind his ear. “It’s, erm…” he trailed off, staring down at his drained mug, the mint teabag sat at the bottom, looking pretty sorry for itself and not giving up any clues to the answer. He should get a refill.

Sana cleared her throat, most likely about to reveal the answer when Isak shook his head. “No, I’ve got it. It’s the theory that when light travels through a substance that refracts it, the slower it moves through the substance. Right?”

That small, pleased smile of hers popped onto her face. “Good,” she said, before steamrolling into the next question. “What’s Plancks’ constant?”

“Can we take a break?” Isak cut in, eyes darting to the clock. They had been at it two hours now, and he was going to start talking nonsense soon—if he wasn't already. All the theories of light waves and particles and speed and god-knows-what-else were spinning a glorious mess in his head, like an overdressed Christmas tree with erratic lights.

“Sure,” she replied, closing her laptop. “Tea?”

“I’ll get it,” Isak assured, scraping his chair back across the slate tiles. Taking both their cups—they were ones he’d brought with him, he’d refused to ditch them even though there was a perfect set of eight already here, because Isak liked  _ his own _ mugs—he wandered across the kitchen, placing the first mug under the one cup kettle. 

He supposed it worked out well enough if you were only making your own drink, but you had to wait for one measure of water to boil and then eject into the waiting cup, and then do the same for the next. Fair enough, it took all of about thirty seconds for the water to heat, and, in all, the process was quicker than waiting for a whole kettle of water to boil, but he could still grumble about it. So he did.

“I think you probably save energy that way,” Sana said from the table; it was wooden and had been bleached to look like driftwood. Probably because regular pine would be  _ too  _ normal.

“What?” he asked, looking over his shoulder.

“You were about to moan about the kettle again. I was pre-empting you.”

Isak snorted but it was lost in the gurgle of steaming water as it poured into Sana’s mug. It was the one covered in rainbows, she seemed to favour it—apparently tea tasted better in that one. So, really, he’d been thinking of her too when he’d decided to keep them, despite the cupboards now clashing with mismatched plates and bowls and cups. “Am I that obvious?”

“No, you’re settling. It's fine, things are different and you need to make your sofa dent.”

Isak frowned at her. “Sofa dent?”

“You know, when you sit in the same place so long your bum makes a familiar groove in the cushion. That’s what you have to do—metaphorically; find your place here.”

He thought that over, whilst placing Sana’s mug to one side on the marble work surface that matched the colour of the driftwood table, and set his own—it was a Mr Happy, bright yellow thing—under the spout. “Oh shit, did you want a different tea? I left the raspberry bag in.”

But she shook her head. “That’s fine.”

The water streamed out again. “You hungry?”

She waved the notion away. “I need to get back in an hour; mum cooked.”

“She did?” Isak perked up at the thought, the food was always delicious at Sana’s house.

Smirking at him she moved her laptop to one side as she took the mug offered to her. “I’ll bring you some tomorrow.”

“You don’t have to—”

But she cut him off with a shushing noise. “You know my mum loves feeding you. What plans do you have for dinner tonight? Any sign of  _ him _ yet?”

Isak plopped back down into his seat. “Spaghetti; it’s Tuesday,” he said simply, before answering her second question, “And no, not really. Like ships in the night.” He looked up at her to find a pensive expression aimed at him.

“I thought that’s what you wanted?”

His eyebrows drew together as he closed the textbook in front of him. “It is.” Shrugging, an amused look passed over her face. “ _ What _ ?” he insisted.

“It’s just you sound pretty sore about that…  _ ships in the night _ .” she looked expectantly at him as she sipped her tea.

He snorted. “No, if anything I’m just getting used to having people everywhere— _ all the time _ —and now it’s just me mostly. This is the first time you’ve been around, and apart from Eskild checking in on Saturday, that’s been it.” Did he sound sore about it? No, he liked his space and quiet. This was nice, he just wasn’t used to it. “I like it like this.”

Sana made that face that said she clearly wasn’t buying it but she pressed no further. “You could always try asking if he wants to do something. It wouldn’t hurt to get to know him a little better. Maybe he’s just waiting for you to settle?”

But Isak was already shaking his head. “He doesn’t even eat here, apart from breakfast. And the few times he sits down, and I’m here, it’s a maximum of twenty minutes before his phone goes off—and then he’s gone.”

She hummed to herself. “He’s busy,” she murmured.

“Well, yeah, but that’s not normal, is it? To be out all  _ that  _ much.”

Blinking, she considered him with a confused expression. “Normal? Isak nothing is normal, you know that. He does what he does, if you want to know what that is get to know him. If not—” she shrugged, leaving the rest unsaid.

“It’s fine anyway. I’m not bothered.” He pointedly ignored the disbelieving huff of laughter she made. “He’s pretty into himself, I don’t think we’d get on if we spent too much time together, so—” He gestured to the immaculate, simplistic but expensively designed surrounding. “This must all be family money—he’s a rich boy, probably doesn’t know how lucky he is.” He’d thought about that a great deal too, they were opposites. And he realised he sounded maybe a little bitchy, but he was definitely not sore about any of this. If he was defensive it was simply because Sana was wrong.

“Didn’t he leave stuff here for you? Eskild said something about some care package.”

Isak sighed. He should have known Eskild would tell Sana all about the move in details. “Yes, like a basket of toiletries. It was weird. Shower stuff and hair gel and a diffuser. Stuff I'll never use.”

“Firstly, that's not weird—that's  _ nice _ . Secondly, the lavender diffuser you have on your bedroom desk? You know,  _ using?” _

_ “ _ Well, yeah, I'm not gonna let it go to waste, am I? But I'm  _ not  _ using the hair gel. I don't need it.” He firmed his jaw, defiant at no one except the notion that perhaps he should style his hair.

Sana was scanning him, she didn't even need to say she disagreed as her eyes swept over his hair, probably unruly right now knowing his luck and his perpetual habit of scrubbing a hand through it when he was thinking. Which he had been because light particle physics was fucking hard.

“My point still stands; that's a nice thing to do. He was trying to make you feel welcome.”

Well, that was probably true but it was unnecessary. Was Isak supposed to get him a move in gift? It had thrown him off, and he'd worried about it ever since. But what the fuck did he get someone that had everything already? And there was hardly anything personal in the shared space for him to garner any hints.

“I never said it wasn't nice,” Isak retorted.

“You said it was weird—did you say thank you?” Sana sat back in her chair and held him with a scathing look.

Isak opened his mouth to assure that, of course, he had said thank you, because he wasn't as asshole. But it dawned on him that he hadn't said thank you. He wasn't sure he'd said anything more than  _ hi _ and  _ bye.  _ It had been almost a week—that was pretty fucking bad, he had to admit.

“Well it's not like he's around.” And he knew he sounded far too defensive.

Sana shook her head. “You have his number, you could have sent him a damn thank you bitmoji. You know, those dumb things you send me.”

“They are not dumb— _ you _ have them now; it's cute.”

She stared him down, not taking the topic switch. “ _ Whatever _ . Cute or dumb, it takes two seconds to send one. You  _ need _ to say thank you.” She impressed the last sentence; it wasn't optional.

He was about to concede and tell her he would do just that, as soon as Even was around, when he heard a key in the door.

Sana grinned at him. “Looks like I get to meet Even.”

Isak rolled his eyes. This was bound to be painful. Sana drew herself up, expectant and eyes on the door—the living space was open plan and there wasn't a damn place you could hide. Isak had tried. Even’s head appeared around the door.

“Hi.” Isak felt smug that he was the first to say hello, he felt like he had won something…  _ somehow _ .

Even pushed the door closed behind him, before looking up. That smile that always seemed to be carefully monitored on his face as his eyes found Isak. There was something in his smile that made Isak feel…  _ uncomfortable? _ Maybe that wasn’t the right word, but he couldn't put his finger on it.

Isak fully expect Sana to plough into a very quick introduction, before underhandedly berating Isak for not apologising. But nothing came from her direction. Turning to her, he frowned. Sana was uncharacteristically off balance, and there was a brief pause as they eyed each other.

“I’m Sana, Isak’s friend.” She offered finally, and if Isak hadn’t seen the hesitation for himself he would doubt it ever occured, she was herself again—forthright and friendly.

“Even,” he replied, as he crossed the space to them. His smile hadn’t faltered. “I’ve heard about you— _ briefly _ , but I haven’t been here much to know more than first names. I don’t even know Isak’s surname.”

“Valtersen,” Isak cut in as Even took the chair next to him.

“There we go. See, I learnt something about you today.” Isak knew Even was grinning somehow, but he didn’t look up from the page his eyes were aimlessly following lines of text on.

“Hm, I guess you did,” he murmured. If the words in front of him were telling him what the winning lottery numbers were, he still wouldn’t find himself a millionaire by the weekend. People were fucking distracting.

“I heard you’re a busy bee,” Sana said. Isak scowled at her, but he was pointedly ignored.  _ Great _ , so now Even would know they’d been talking about him.

But Even just shrugged, he didn’t seem to think anything of it. “Time waits for no man,” he offered. He  _ would  _ speak in quotes—that’s not pretentious at all.

Sana raised an eyebrow at him. “ _ Or woman _ ,” she added.

He huffed a laugh, leaning his elbows on the table top. “Of course, although I have a feeling if you told time to stop, it would do just that.” That was a true estimation, but it was too familiar—too  _ presumptuous  _ to make a statement like that about someone’s personality the first time you met. How would he know that—could he just read people? Sana would most definitely set him straight.

But Sana was smiling back at him, her cheeks a rosy shade. Was she blushing? But instead of a reprimand, she just cleared her throat. “Isak was going to make spaghetti for dinner, and I can’t stay because I promised my mum I would be home for dinner.” She smiled at Isak and he knew where she was taking this. “He  _ always  _ overcooks, so you could help him eat it. He’s not bad at cooking, you might need to season it a little.”

Isak’s mouth was hanging open by the time she was finished, shocked by how presumptuous she was being. Sana busied herself, pulling out her phone to check a message that had just come through, as if she hadn’t just dropped him in it. Isak quickly pulled together some words to find an excuse he was sure Even was looking for, too. “It’s fine, I can eat alone. I’m sure Even has plans—,”

“I don’t,” Even turned to him, cutting Isak up. “If you don’t mind the company.”

Internally Isak was flailing. This was awful, they were not like minded people, it would be awkward as holy fuck and they would quickly realise how much they didn’t have in common. Besides that, even if they did get along, he didn’t want any more friends. He liked his social circle as it was. But what the hell could he say now without being rude? He  _ would _ get Sana back for this.

Even’s smile didn’t falter a fraction, but his eyes wrinkled. Was he holding in a laugh? And then Isak realised he was just making a weird noise from low in his throat. Coughing, he tried to pass it off as nothing but something caught there. “Sure,” he said finally. Not that there was anything else he could say.

“Awesome, you have all the ingredients? I can go to the store.”

“Yes—I have everything,” Isak snorted, looking back down to the book under his nose, “I do my weekly shopping and get everything I need in one go.”

“Of course you do.” Even said, he sounded amused. Isak looked at him and frowned. That careful smile was still there, but it looked like he was biting the inside of his cheek. What was so damn funny? “Do you have pecorino?” He added quickly before Isak could ask why the hell he was always on the verge of laughter.

“Pecorino?”

“Yeah, you know, to sprinkle on the top. You add cheese, right?”

Isak nodded. “Well,  _ yeah _ ,” he retorted hotly, before daring to show his ignorance. “Pecorino is a cheese?”

“It’s an Italian hard cheese,” Even answered simply. He didn’t seem to gloat in Isak’s lack of knowledge in any case.

“Isak only knows the difference between grated and un-grated,” Sana interrupted absentmindedly as she began to pack her books and laptop into her bag.

“That’s not true, I know cheese. Goats’ cheese and the pizza one… mozzarella,” Isak said defensively.

She gave him a blank stare. “So which kind do you have?”

His lips drew into a tight line before he replied. “Grated—but it’s mature. Cheddar. I think.” And she was wearing the look that said  _ you’ve just proved my point. _

“Either way, it’ll be great, I’m sure.” Even offered, as he stood from the table. “I’m just gonna grab a shower and then I’ll give you a hand.”

Isak waited until he was out of earshot, and the bedroom door closed, before he rounded on Sana. “What the hell was that?”

It was a confused and exasperated expression that answered Isak. “What? Getting you two to spend time together? Cos you’re flat mates? What’s the problem?”

“You know I don’t like eating with people I don’t know.” She tilted her head, and cocked an eyebrow. “OK, I don’t like people I don’t know, full stop. But you know that, so why?”

“You can’t  _ not  _ like him, Isak. He’s been nothing but nice  _ and  _ you live together. You need to get to know him, so spend some time with him—even if it’s just so you can say thank you. If you don’t gel then keep going your separate ways.” She said, like it was all that easy. For her it might be but Isak was sure he had a phobia for humans he didn’t know. It used to be just a general distaste, but now he’d moved in with  _ this  _ human, he found it hard to say anything at all; his mouth would dry up and his tongue felt too big and ungainly to say anything that would constitute as normal conversation.

“ _ You need to get to know him,”  _ Isak mimicked childishly because he didn’t really have anything else to say.

She sighed, zipping up her bag. “He seems easy going enough, Isak, you’ll be fine. But I have to go; mum texted—she wants me over there earlier to get Yousef out of the kitchen. He just follows her around and watches every tiny detail for clues; he even thought wiping the oil in the pan clockwise was a part of the secret recipe.”

“ _ You’re going now _ ?” Isak asked, panicking now. He assumed she would stay long enough to ease the situation before leaving him to fend for himself.

“Isak, you’ll be fine,” she impressed. “Just start cooking now, focus on that. You know you lose yourself when you’re trying to make sure the onion is diced in exact cubes.”

Did he? He wanted to query that because he was sure he wasn’t that pedantic about his food preparation, but she was already slinging her bag on her back and tucking her chair in.

Isak swallowed. “OK,” he said numbly. It was no big deal anyway. He made spaghetti every Tuesday. And if he had nothing to say it would be because he was eating. Easy.

“Oh.” She stopped at the door, looking back at him. “And the offer is still open about the driving lessons, it would be good, I think. We could start in the lot at the hospice, take it slowly—”

But she stopped when he waved a hand and shook his head. “Soon, lemme just adjust to uni and moving and stuff. OK?”

She barely kept herself from rolling her eyes. She knew he was putting it off on purpose, but it was another terrifying invariable to him. He would, just not right now. “OK, maybe after half term?”

“Maybe.” Isak agreed with the wishy-washy proposal.

“I’ll see you tomorrow, tell Even I said bye.”

“Will do,” Isak murmured, trying to get the energy to move.

He counted back from twenty as the door clicked closed. Once he reached  _ one _ he lurched from his spot and set his mind completely on the task ahead. He got all the ingredients from the fridge and cupboards, laying them out in order of when they would be used, and then got the chopping board and cutting knife. It wasn’t until he was adding the diced onions to heated oil that he realised Sana was right. This seemed to calm his thoughts, focussing on the one dish he could cook to a decent level. But there was still an element of nerves; what if Even didn’t like his food? And then he frowned at that notion; why did he care?

The meat was browning and he’d started separating the mince strands, mixing it so it cooked evenly and there were no pink spots, when Even walked back into room.

“Sana gone?” he asked.

Isak hummed confirmation. His lips felt soldered shut.

“Oh,” he sounded disappointed, “I like her,” he said to himself, before moving to lean against the countertop.

“She’s my friend.” It was a stupid statement that meant nothing, but what he meant to say was he didn’t suffer fools. If she was his friend then of course she would be cool. Better than cool, one of the best humans Isak knew. Isak cringed at the fact of that thought boiling down to three dumb words.

“Well, you have good taste then.”

Isak was supposed to say that she’d said goodbye and he was also supposed to say thank you. But there was two more pink slivers of meat that he needed to turn over. Then he’d drain the oil, and then he would add some seasoning before the vegetables—

“Isak?”

He blinked as his thoughts were interrupted. Taking a brief look at Even, he noticed blue eyes focussed on him with maybe a hint of concern. He refocused on the spoon in the pan and his own hand moving it around.

“What?”

There was a pause before Even responded, like he was weighing something up. “Can we take a rain check? Something came up.”

Isak was already nodding vigorously before the sentence was finished. “Yep.” He said, it sounded sharp in his ears.

“You sure?”

Isak hummed, impatience in his tone now. Of course he was sure, didn’t he just say that it was OK? “I like being alone.” It was meant to be a thought, but it came out of his mouth. And he didn’t care either, it was the truth. He preferred it this way. He moved to one side and began chopping carrots, his back was to Even now. He should have done this before he put the meat in. The knife must be sharper than he remembered because it was banging against the wood harder than was necessary once it had cut through the vegetable.

“I’ll make it up—I’ll cook next,” he said with a light laugh. What was funny?

But Isak didn’t have the energy to ask that same question that kept popping up again and again. All he did was shrug. “No big deal.”

“ _ No big deal, _ ” Even repeated softly behind him. Isak frowned at the carrots. They weren’t evenly sliced.

A silence stretched out that started to grate on Isak’s nerves, he was about to turn around, still brandishing the knife, and tell Even to fuck off to wherever he prefered to be when Even cleared his throat.

“OK, well I’ll be quiet when I get in.” Isak grunted a laugh at that, not sure where it came from or what it was for. “Just text if you need anything.” And feet made their way to the door.

Text him if he needed anything? Why would he do that? What could he need that he couldn’t get for himself? “See you,” he mumbled to the carrots after the door had shut.

* * *

_ Isak gripped the steering wheel and squinted at it; it seemed to alternate between pine and driftwood. Which was absurd because steering wheels weren’t wooden. Were they? They must be. _

_ Rolling hills past the windows. It looked like a route he would take to the cabins in the summer, but he didn’t recognise it. But that was fine, too. Sana knew where they were going. _

_ “Near the river. That's where you need to be. Somewhere between the stars and the water.” _

_ And Isak didn’t frown, of course that made sense. Somewhere between the stars and the water was where everything was, so logically it was true. He looked at her. She had all her books on her lap, they’d already been read—he could see their cracked spines and creased pages. She’d finished them on the way while Isak had been driving. _

_ “You need to catch up with reading,” she said. He just nodded, ignoring the illogical aspect that reading and driving at the same time imposed. He just smiled at her; her headscarf was covered in rainbows. She was beautiful. He wished he could be like her. _

_ “I need to get Yousef,” She stated, before turning to blow him a kiss. Then she wasn’t there, just her books strewn on the passenger seat. _

_ Isak blinked and the sun was gone. It was raining and he couldn’t see anything outside. His lights weren’t working and he couldn't see the stars either. The rain came harder and then light hit his eyes from the rearview mirror; someone was following him. _

_ His heart beat faster and the rain was now more like a waterfall. Water was flowing into the car. He needed to find shelter. But where was he? He was lost. And he needed to read these books, to know where he was going. Because Sana knew.  _

_ One hand held a book that was too heavy, his other hand was on the steering wheel. It didn’t feel like wood under his palm now, it felt like rough and cold stone. It was hard to turn and it bit roughly at his flesh. He couldn’t turn the page in the book with both his hands busy, and raindrops were falling onto them, too, blurring the words. _

_ The road dropped from beneath him, he lurched down a sharp decline, skidding around a corner while an engine revved behind him. They were coming. Who were coming? _

_ But panic blurred everything out—all questions and logic. Blindly he put his foot down on the accelerator and sped through the tar black night. The car skidded to a halt without his influence and the door swung open; he was hanging off a cliff, the car tipping precariously, like a balance. _

_ The river was below, too far below. He was going to die. If the fall didn’t kill him, the water would drown him. He needed to get out of the passenger door but the books were in the way and he couldn’t move. He couldn’t breathe. He was alone. He was going to die. _

_ Something hit the car and he was hurtling through the air. He was going to die. _

* * *

Isak lurched awake, pushing himself away from the mattress so forcefully he almost fell out of bed.

His heart hammered painfully in his stress restricted chest, his breathing was haggard and the neck of his t-shirt was damp with sweat.

Looking over to the digital clock on his bedside table, he squinted until the small red lines made sense. 02:03. Fucking great. There was no point in trying to find sleep again, his mind would be racing with the horrific scenario he'd experienced, his anxiety too high to try and relax.

By the time Isak had finished cooking, eating and tidying behind him earlier, he'd sat down to try and study some more. But it had been pointless, his eyelids heavy and his head beginning to pound. So at the pathetic time of 20:31 he'd found himself in bed. It was a blessing now, five and a half hours sleep would get him through the day—he’d survived on less. He’d probably crash early again but that was no big deal, it wasn't like he had any pressing plans or anyone that wanted to spend time with him.  _ Thank God… _

But, for now, at 02:05 there was only one thing worth doing.  

###  Even

Even tried to make as little noise as possible when he slotted the key in the door and slid into his apartment. It was new to him being considerate, not bad—just different. He knew Isak went to bed early, most nights he would come back and Isak’s door would be closed and the light off.

On Friday, Even had made a little too much noise when he’d arrived at home, it was probably close to 3am again—but he hadn’t been keeping track. Isak had been kind enough to let him know he’d been disturbed, not by poking his head out of his room and telling him to shut up, but by waking up at 7am to make breakfast that had taken far too much noise to prepare to be anything other than a blatant point. 

It should have annoyed him but it didn't. Even had just laughed into his pillow, imagining baby bird flapping around the kitchen, all red faced and flustered, banging cupboard doors and clanging saucepans together.

He hadn't been able to shake the feeling of guilt from earlier, leaving Isak to eat alone. He said he was fine but he'd most definitely bristled—Even didn't think Isak was aware of that though. But it was all new for him too, it looked like Isak needed stability to feel secure. Which was, in many ways, antithesis to how Even operated. He liked change and the surprises that a chaotic lifestyle threw at you.

Despite actually wanting to spend some time with his new flatmate, this client had been his easy ticket—well, it was usually easy. Tonight, as he'd sat in the backseat—cock in hand—his thoughts kept trailing elsewhere, and he would randomly be amused by another of baby bird’s quirks. He supposed that was what happens when you lived with someone; they distracted you. The client hadn't minded though, from the little evidence he gave. It probably just looked like Even was putting on more of a show.

It  _ was _ weird having someone else around, but in a curious way. Isak had all these peculiar habits that Even might not be around enough to see first-hand, but he saw the aftermath. For example, all the items in the fridge door and Isak’s products in the bathroom were arranged in size order, and Even noticed that all double light switches had been fiddled with until they all switched the correct way when they were turned off. The cushions on the sofa had to be rested on a corner so they made a diamond, as opposed to a square—which is how the cleaner arranges them. Even would let them have that weekly battle. And he’d never seen a collection of tea like Isak’s, it took a whole shelf, and it wasn’t arranged in size order—because most of the boxes were the same size—but by how much tea was left, the almost depleted boxes right at the front. Even only knew  _ that  _ because there was one slightly larger paper bag of loose Earl Grey, tight in the middle, and he’d made a quip about it not being in order. He was soon set severely straight. Who the hell drank Earl Grey tea anyway? Isak Valtersen, apparently. And the best thing was, the infuser he used for the loose tea was the death star on a chain. You couldn't make this shit up. 

He hung his keys, as discreetly as he could, on the hooks near the door—he took the third one out of four. Isak had claimed the second, which had been Even’s but it made no difference to him. For some reason he found himself reluctant to hang it on the first. In the middle seemed right, next to the other set. It was odd otherwise. Even began to wonder whether Isak’s OCD was catching.

But he froze when he turned, poised to tip toe back to his room, as he noticed that Isak’s bedroom door was open. This was the first time that had happened since it had become occupied. Light spilled out into the hall but there was no movement or sound from what Even could sense. He’d just made the decision to investigate the anomaly, and make sure Isak was OK, when he felt breeze on the nape of his neck and the scent of something familiar.

Frowning, Even walked lightly to the sliding doors that led onto the balcony—one had been left open an inch and cool air was curling into the room, shifting the curtains in gentle waves. It took him a good thirty seconds to figure out what he was looking at when he got to the doors, but he couldn't help but grin when the scene unfolded.

At first, it looked like Isak’s striped duvet had been dumped out on the balcony in a heap, but then he saw two pale legs sticking out from the bundle, resting against the wall of the balcony, bare toes wiggled as they pointed at the stars. It was when a hand moved across the covers and the orange glow of a lit blunt glowed that Even could make out the face buried deep within the sanctuary of the duvet. Even watched for another minute as Isak stared at the stars and took another pull from the spliff. What was he doing?  _ He smoked? _

He rapped his knuckles on the glass softly in warning before sliding the door open and sticking his head out. Surprisingly, Isak didn't jump or flinch at the intrusion; he simply turned his head towards Even and grinned. It was the first time he'd seen Isak look anything but serious or sombre, and Even decided then and there that smiling suited him.

“ _ Eveeennn _ ,” Isak sung his name merrily. This was a different Isak, and he wasn't sure if he should be concerned.

“Are you… OK?” Even hesitated before stepping out to join him and closing the door behind him.

“Shit, I left it open. Did I smoke the flat out? Fuck, sorry.”

Even had held out a hand to dismiss the concern but Isak didn't slow in his apology. “It's fine, no harm done. I just didn't think you'd smoke.”

Isak blinked, confused for a heartbeat. “Why wouldn't I?” he asked slowly.

Even shrugged, guilt dawning on him again with the assumptions he'd made. “You just seem so focussed and organised. You don't drink alcohol, but you have, like, half the tea in China. I didn’t realise that teetotal meant you drank shit tonnes of actual tea…” he trailed off as Isak laughed.  _ Isak was laughing? _ And it wasn't snarky, it was that hilarious stoner fit of giggles. It was a nice sound, and Even noticed that the gesture carved lines into Isak’s cheeks; he tilted his head to absorb him better in this new light.

“I don’t have half the tea in China,” he replied, after his mirth had worn down. “You don’t like tea?” He frowned up at Even before holding out his hand and offering the joint to him. “Smoke?”

Even considered the mound that was burrito Isak before shrugging. Why the fuck not, it’s not like he said no to much and he smoked from time to time. It also seemed like this might be a good way to get to know Isak, without all his defences in place. “Sure,” he replied, before plonking himself next to Isak and taking the joint. 

Even relished at the frown sent his way when he shifted around until he was lying next to Isak, and then he hoisted his legs up, leaning them against the wall to further mirror Isak. “Do I have to take off my shoes and socks for the full effect?” He took a long pull from the joint as Isak made a show of snorting an inelegant laugh.

“I mean you don’t  _ have  _ to, but you can’t wave at the stars otherwise.”

Even coughed on his exhale. “What?”

“ _ You know _ ,” Isak replied, as if he was talking to a fairly slow child, before he wiggled his toes again, “waving at the stars, like that.”

And Even didn’t try to hold in his laugh, it was absurd and hilarious and this wasn’t such a different Isak after all. Just a little more laid back. “I can’t  _ not _ wave at the stars, it would be damn rude.” So, Even found himself yanking off his shoes and placing them beside him before peeling his socks and shoving one in either shoe. Then his feet were back against the walls and he wiggled his toes.

Isak nodded perfunctorily, like all was right in the world now. “Yes, it would be rude. Like not answering a question.”

Looking up to the deep, indigo sky and the spread of stars, Even tried to remember what question Isak was obviously referring to. “Oh, I like tea, just… in moderation. And I need caffeine, I can’t keep going on herbal alone. Mint tea is my favourite, but the Moroccan mint tea… cos it’s sweet.” Even realised his sentence was sprawling, maybe it was the weed already,  _ or _ just the fact he was getting lost in the stars. Isak just hummed at the remark like that was to be expected.

“Caffeine isn’t good for you,” he murmured, taking the spliff back from Even, and pulling another drag before flicking the ash onto a plate near his head that had the remains of some kind of sauce on it. They were using a plate as an ashtray?

“Lots of things aren’t good for you, even that,” he pointed to the joint that was now between Isak’s lips. “It’s all about moderation.” Isak just rolled his eyes as smoke rolled from his lips in a lazy release, probably something he’d heard before. Even decided to steer the subject elsewhere. “You came out to look at the stars?”

“Yep. And smoke. It’s what I do when I can’t sleep.”

And, for whatever reason, that surprised Even. “You can’t sleep?” Isak nodded. “I thought you were an expert at sleeping; you’re always doing it.” And Isak was snickering again at that, it made Even grin.

“An expert? Nah,” he handed the joint to Even again. “Usually I shut my eyes and blank out until my alarm goes off—I don’t know if that’s how you’re supposed to sleep. It’s when I dream that fucks it all up.”

“I don’t think there’s any right or wrong way to sleep.” Even frowned, unsure whether to probe but it didn’t seem too intrusive to ask. “You had a bad dream?”

“Yeah, the usual losing control and dying ones.”

Even could empathise with fucked up dreams, he had them from time to time. It’s why he slept as little as possible. Sometimes his monsters like to come out and play if he was well rested enough to entertain them. “I get that.” He could feel Isak studying the side of his face as he toked. Before his own dreams were questioned, he forced himself to ask something else to divert the attention. He wasn’t usually quite so inquisitive. “You don’t like losing control, right?” Isak nodded. “Makes sense that’s what you have nightmares about. All the elements being insane and there’s nothing you can do about it.”

He turned to look at Isak, who wore a hesitant expression and chewed his lip. “I’ve had things happen when I wasn’t in control, I don’t wanna feel like that again. Aaaaand my fucked up brain knows that and likes to scare the shit out of me.”

“Brains are fucked. Can’t live without one, but they like to remind out of all the dark shit that’s in you. But sometimes if you talk about it—” he cut himself off, taking another drag. He didn’t want to seem like he was pushing for Isak’s confidence. Not when he seemed so cagey about letting anyone in, if he wanted to talk to Even it would be best if he thought of it himself.

“I never talked to anyone about it,” Isak muttered at the stars more than to Even.

“Some things are hard to talk about.” Even knew that more than anyone, his own secrets would never bubble to the surface. There was no good that could come from exposing anyone to that shit.

He let out a deep breath into the surprisingly comfortable silence that stretched out between them, and passed the joint back. It was getting low now.   

“It was maybe six months ago,” Isak said, out of nowhere. Even had to hide his shock at the fact he was opening up, he hadn’t expected this. “I’m gay but I wasn’t out then—I’d never even  _ been _ with anyone. I dated girls before but nothing serious, just to try and hide. Or act normal, or whatever.” There was bitterness in Isak’s voice as he recounted it. Even understood that too, trying to live to society's expectations. It’s why he’d stopped giving a fuck a long time ago. “When Eskild got this job, at the bar, we all went to celebrate. I drank way too much and then there was this guy,” Isak swallowed, words were getting caught in his throat and Even couldn’t help but feel for him.

“So, something happened,” he interceded, trying to help alleviate the anxiety at talking about it. Isak nodded.

“I wasn’t thinking and I thought it was somewhere private— _ confidential _ . You know the rooms?”

“Oh, I know the rooms,” Even replied with a smirk. Only too well.

“Someone that knew me must have been there and they took pictures. The next day it was everywhere, at school. And then my parents were told—” he stopped, scrubbing at his face. “So, I never got to come out. I couldn’t control the fact I liked guys, that I had a stupid crush on my best friend, that my body reacts to shit that I was brought up being told was not right. I had one thing in my hands. And someone took that away. They fucking stole it from me,  _ and _ my fucking dignity.”

Even stayed quiet for a long while, staring up at the sky just like Isak was. He heard the roach being ground into the plate to put it out. So, Isak had been brought up in a homophobic environment? That would explain his family not being a part of his life now; he remembered just how vehemently Eskild and Magnus had discarded the notion that Isak stay with his parents. It made sense. So, not only was Isak humiliated, he was alone. Or he felt that way.

“That sounds fucking awful,” Even admitted. He felt Isak shrug.

“It is what it is. I can't change it. Everyone said it would blow over, and it did. But no one can undo it, I have to live with it… the fact that coming out for me was a shameful thing rather than empowering. I was almost ready, too.” His words ended up almost a whisper by the end, all wrapped in regret.

“So you're gay and asexual? Or is that part of you controlling the situation?”

Isak let out a heavy sigh. “In a way. If I say I'm ace it's like I'm making a decision about who I am, that no one else dictated for me. But in a way it's true, I don't think I'll ever be interested in anyone cos I'll never trust anyone again.”

Even nodded. He didn't think he ever made the conscious decision that he wouldn't trust anyone, it was just a fact for as long as he could remember. Trust was just a gamble, one you would inevitably lose at some point. “If it works for you, that's all that matters.”

Isak turned his face to Even, the weight of his frown was hard to ignore. “That's it? You're not gonna try and persuade me to…  _ connect _ .” The last work was said with such contempt, Even couldn't help but snort.

The expression was reflected back at Isak as Even looked at him. “Why would I? Everyone lives their lives differently, there's no right or wrong. As long as you are happy, who am I to tell you you'd be happier doing X, Y or Z?”

Isak looked taken aback by the notion. “Thanks,” he mumbled.

“You don't have to say thanks, I'm about as fucked up as you. I don't believe in relationships, I don't trust anyone but me,” he shrugged, “And I'm happy. I like you cos you’re yourself, you don't pretend. Keep being you, I won't stop you.”

Isak hesitated before responding. “You like me?”

“Of course I do. Why wouldn't I?” Even couldn’t control the pang of sympathy he felt for Isak at the pure astonishment he felt that someone, outside of his friends who already knew him, would like him.

Isak shook his head. “I'm grumpy and  _ apparently  _ I'm boring. And I don't have rich parents that buy me penthouses and four by fours.”

The assumption made Even choke on a laugh. Was that what he thought? “My parents didn't buy any of my things; I bought everything myself.” Isak looked confused at the revelation, he opened his mouth—probably to question—but Even rode over him. “And you aren't boring, just because we do different things doesn't mean you aren't interesting to me. I mean, you wave at stars with your toes.” He grinned again when his words won another laugh. “But you are fucking grumpy,” Even admitted.

Spluttering in indignation, Isak grappled for words to retaliate. “You don't have to agree out loud.”  

“Hey, I’m as real as you are,” he said, nudging against Isak’s shoulder. “I don't beat around the bush. But I'm never grumpy, so you balance us out.”

Isak considered it for a moment. “I do it for the good of the universe, you're always happy and all that happiness could have dire consequences. I'm doing god's work.”

Even was laughing before Isak had finished the sentence, but it was overshadowed by his stomach rumbling loud enough that they both heard. “Fuck, I'm hungry.”

“Well,” Isak replied with a smirk, “I cooked you a portion of spaghetti—I put it in a container—but then I got high and,” he gestured to the plate that had the roach on it, “I ate it. Serves you right for ditching me.” He crossed his arms over his chest and did that chin tilt gesture when he was making a point of something.

Even knew he was saying it to taunt him, but he could tease just as well. “You set me aside my own portion, Isak? You put it in a separate container?” Isak rolled his eyes and his cheeks flushed, knowing where Even was going with the way he cooed the words.

“It was just what I didn't eat, it's not like—” But Even didn't give him a chance to backtrack, butting in before he could refute the claims.

“No, no, you said you cooked me a portion, that's so sweet. Isak, I feel full on the thought alone. You're so caring,” and his words divulged into laughter as Isak struggled to find words, and just sent Even a desperate glare, if such an expression was possible.

“I just don't know how to cook for one, I didn't intentionally cook for everyone in the old place but they would always want some. I didn't think I'd miss that…” he trailed off, looking back up to the stars. Isak felt lonely, whether he wanted to admit it or not. Even wondered what that feeling was like, to miss people. Well, he would have to be Isak’s company now. He'd make an effort to be around more, Even decided, despite being surprised at his own conclusion. He didn't usually feel the need to be what people needed… unless they were paying for it.

“They must miss you.” He resisted the urge to add just as much as Isak missed them.

Isak snorted, disbelieving. “They’re all doing their own thing.”

“Doesn't mean they don't miss you, and you have your space to find out what  _ your _ thing is.” Even offered, before silently pondering at what his own  _ thing _ was.

Isak was chewing on his lip. “How do I do that?” he asked quietly.

Shrugging, Even tried to draw on some advice. “Sometimes you have to focus on yourself; you have your studies, you could do something more physical as a hobby.”

Frowning, Isak turned back to Even. “Like what?”

“I don't know, like a sport… or the gym? The building has its own gym. I only really use the sauna and steam room, but it looks pretty good. They hold classes… yoga?” Even trailed off, unsure of what he was really saying but Isak was looking at him like he knew what to do. Now he was nodding.

“I could check it out, might be good to help with focus.”

“Well don't go crazy, you know moderation is key.” And he was still nodding. Christ, Even wasn't sure if he was responsible enough to be in the position of advice giver, but here he was. There was no going back now.

“I'll make a schedule,” Isak assured.

Even couldn't help the laughter that surged from his lungs. “Of course you will.” The fondness in his voice was surprising to his ears, and equally to Isak who'd narrowed his eyes at Even but looked confounded at the tone of his words. It did sound over familiar.

“You always look like you're about to laugh when I talk to you,  _ why?”  _ And the words weren't exactly heated, but Even still felt the demand.

“I don't  _ always _ look like I'm gonna laugh,” he said. He was sure it’d been masked well enough.

“A lot then,” Isak clarified.

Even sighed. “You'll just get pissed off with me of I tell you—it'll come off wrong.”

Isak did the chin tilt thing again and Even’s stomach tightened to clamp down on the renewed laughter. “See,” Isak said to prove his point. “You want to laugh.”

And now came the urge to smooth his ruffled feathers, it wasn't meant in a bad way. “It's just I don't think I've met anyone like you before, I find you interesting… like your mannerisms. I'm not laughing at you, I promise.”

Isak lips silently repeated  _ interesting _ and, god damn it, if baby bird wasn't sent simply to pull on heart strings that Even had forgot existed. He nudged his foot against Isak’s; he'd need to sleep if he was gonna wake up and go to uni in the morning. Likewise for himself. They had maybe four good hours sleep left—that was about standard for Even. But the ice block that he touched, which was Isak’s foot, threw his trail of thought off.

“You're freezing, we should go inside. You probably should sleep, too.”

Isak shrugged. “It's not  _ too _ bad,” he replied, but he wrapped the covers tighter to him and shivered. “And I won't be sleeping—I never do after those dreams.”

Pursing his lips, Even tried to construct a counter argument that didn't sound as though he was mothering—which definitely wasn't the case. But just as he opened his mouth, nature decides to root for him and a fat droplet of rain splashed on his forehead.

“Something wet just fell on me,” Isak said, mystified.

Even snorted. “It's called rain.”

“But the skies are clear,” Isak exclaimed, pointing heaven bound and to the mass of stars shining above them. It was like Isak was trying to argue against nature itself. This did not surprise Even.

“Sometimes rain falls from blue skies,” Even mused, while the rain began to pelt down on them both, getting heavier by the second.

Isak turned to frown at him, before laughing. “Did you just… quote Gabrielle?”

“It must have been a saying before that song… But yeah. I guess I did.” Isak was still laughing at him. “ _ What _ ? You can't not like Gabrielle.”

“Christ, yes I can. Fuck, there was a break clause in the let about incompatible music tastes, right? I don't think I can do this anymore,” he teased. Even couldn't help snorting on the surprised laughter that bubbled from him. He couldn't remember the last time he'd laughed so much.

“After everything I've done for you,” Even feigned a hurt tone while wiping away a raindrop like it was a tear. “After everything we've been through…”

“Oh, stop. I'll start thinking Eskild’s been giving you some drama king lessons.”

Even opened his mouth to retort, if anything it would be he that gave Eskild lessons, but the rain switched between a medium spray to a wall of water. “C'mon,” he said, voice raised above the sudden deluge. Isak didn't argue this time. Jumping up, he grabbed his duvet and the plate and followed on Even’s heels into the warm and dry. It had only been a few moments, but they both looked like they'd had a bucket of water thrown on them.

“I'll chill with you if you're not gonna sleep. I've gone a night without sleep before.”

Isak hesitated, not quite sure what to do with the proposal. “OK,” he said finally.

“I'll go get my blankets,” Even said, pointing at the soggy material Isak held tight in one arm. “That's soaked now.” Isak had been so tightly wrapped in the thing, most of him was dry. Unlike Even. “And I'll get something dry on,” he added, turning to the hall and his room.

“I'll just be here,” Isak called out, his words not completely sure of themselves or their relevance.

It didn't take long for Even to peel his shirt off and throw it in the laundry basket. He pulled a fresh t-shirt over his head and shrugged his trousers off, replacing them with some more comfy shorts. Grabbing the covers, he made his way back out to the living room.

“What movies do you…?” Even trailed off as he looked up at the L shaped sofa and where Isak was now lying. From somewhere, Isak had found one of Even’s old zip up jackets and had not only crawled into it, the hood brought up over his slightly damp curls, but was in a foetal position  _ and _ snoring. He was sound asleep.

Even found himself smiling, not entirely sure what he was supposed to do now. Either way, Isak would get cold out here—his legs were bare, and kinda well-muscled, he noted to himself. He was bound to make observations about Isak, they lived together. The point was, Even reminded himself, Isak needed warmth.

Taking his own cover, he spread it over Isak, tucking it carefully around him. Even lifted his head carefully, slotting a cushion beneath it. At least he'd be comfortable. Before switching out the light, he put a glass of water on the table near Isak—waking with dry mouth after smoking wasn't pleasant. Then he was back in his room, layering on some more clothes and grabbing some spare fleece blankets he had for when the weather really turned cold. He’d sleep fine like this.

But it wasn't until he was making himself comfortable on his own bed and closing his eyes that he realised he was still smiling.

Maybe having company wasn't so bad after all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you were curious about the Gabrielle song reference, [here it is!](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ec6FKSRzIDg) (iloveitsomuchBTW)


	4. Chapter Three

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Crazy hair is Jonas, skinny and cap is Mahdi,” Magnus answered quickly. 
> 
> “Grumpy and cap is Isak,” Eskild added. “But you already know that.”
> 
> Even sent him a long look before surprising himself and committing to the defense forming in his mind for his new house mate. “He's not grumpy.” And then there was a silence as Magnus and Eskild exchanged a baffled look. “What?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's more *throws at you*
> 
> Enjoy!

##  Chapter Three 

###  Isak 

It was the light that woke him. His own room would stay dark as long as his curtains were drawn, some days that never happened. It wasn't too bright, but a pale yellow glow that held no warmth was slowly seeping into the room. It signified, at this time of the year, that Isak should probably already be awake. It was a distinct enough change to stir him.

Stretching, as he opened one eye, it took him a while to orientate himself. This was not his room. This was the living room. He'd fallen asleep? He must have, but he'd had that dream… and then the events on the balcony replayed in his mind as he realised that he didn't quite smell like himself. 

So, firstly, apparently they got on. He remembered laughing, a lot. That was good—weird, but good. And he remembered that Even had said he  _ liked  _ him, that he found him  _ interesting.  _ It was kinda hard to believe, and Isak wasn't entirely convinced.

That was until he turned onto his side and saw the crumpled, stripey mass of fabric that was his duvet laying abandoned in the middle of the room. What was he wrapped in? Frowning down, all Isak could make out was purple but his nose was filled with Even—well, whatever products and  _ stuff _ he used to give him his unique scent. 

_ Unique scent? What the fuck?  _ Isak was obviously spending too much time with people that bothered about lavender infusers and… hair gel.

So… Even had purple sheets? Isak was puzzled as to why exactly that piece of information buried itself into his brain with some weight of importance. He guessed it was just knowing some personal detail about the man he lived with, who didn't generally give anything away of his personality in the shared living space. 

Even liked purple. 

Even liked  _ him  _ enough to put his own covers over Isak when he'd passed out… 

_ And _ leave a glass of water for him? It must have been Even that had deposited a glass of water, resting on a cork coaster, on the table near his head. Isak didn't know how thirsty he was until he saw it. Grabbing it, he downed it eagerly. 

Sana was right; Even was a nice guy. 

Panic flared in Isak as that notion forced him to scramble over and comb through the details of their conversation last night on the balcony. 

He  _ still  _ hadn't thanked Even. He was nice and Isak was an asshole who couldn't simply say thanks.  _ Christ _ . He had to fix that asap.

Jumping up from the sofa, Isak folded and patted Even’s covers until they were a neat square on the sofa. If he had his mind on something other than to prove he wasn't a dick, Isak might wonder why exactly it irked him more that he hadn't yet thanked Even and not the fact he'd actually opened up to someone. 

He'd actually asked someone for advice. 

But he dismissed that niggling thought quickly; he'd been stoned after all. That must be it. 

Isak was in the kitchen now, rinsing out his cup, before pulling open the fridge and grabbing some bacon, eggs and mushrooms. 

What did Even like to eat for breakfast? Fuck it. He'd just cook everything, that was a definite non-dick move. As opposed to eating  _ all  _ the spaghetti. 

“ _ Fuck,” _ he muttered to himself, cringing over the memory. Why’d he been so petty? He was stoned, he told himself again. 

The bacon hissed as it hit hot oil in the pan. This would use more resources than planned, but that was fine. He was spending less money here, another trip to the shop wasn't going to hurt. 

The mushrooms were sliced, and, ripping open the bag of spinach, he dropped both ingredients into a saucepan before cracking some eggs into a cup. He beat them until they were blended well enough, then emptied them into another pan on a low heat. 

_ Mail _ . It was his turn, and he couldn’t forget. He had forgotten on Monday and Even had brought it up, not saying a word about it. It was literally the only thing he had to do except pay rent. 

Scanning the occupied pots, he figured he could get downstairs and back up again before anything drastic could happen. 

Eggs were just eggs.

Popping the latch out from the door, Isak made his way down the several flights of stairs. He’d be able to move a little quicker if his legs were as lengthy as Even’s, which were impossibly long. And probably elegant because it seemed like the rest of him was. Not that he’d thought much about that, he hadn’t noticed his slender feet last night either. Well, of course he’d seen them, but not  _ noticed  _ them. 

He jumped the final five stairs to the foyer and pressed the code into their mailbox, it sprung open enthusiastically. Swinging the door wide open, he grabbed the letters crammed inside before banging it shut and taking to the stairs, subconsciously whistling. Since when did he whistle? 

There were three letters and an A4 magazine wrapped in plastic. His journey back was a little slower as he leafed through them. He assumed they would be for Even because only the bank and the uni had his address and they weren't due to send him anything. All except the magazine; having a little more cash to play with Isak had decided to get the New Scientist subscription, it would be good for his studies.

The first light cream letter had a neat print—Even’s name at the start of the address. Isak frowned at the blue logo printed onto the envelope. He recognised it from somewhere; a circle with a cross overlaid. But he couldn’t place it, and it was none of his business anyway. 

The next one was again for Even, handwritten but neat on white paper. This time the logo stamped on the top was more than familiar; it was a black and white rectangle of abstract angular shapes that spelled out the institutes name—it was a university. Why would Even have letters coming from Westerdals? 

Isak snorted at himself before shoving the question firmly from his mind. Why should he know all these things about someone he had just moved in with? Why did it seem out of place in any case? Even could be a stripper and Isak wouldn’t be entitled to know.

It occured to Isak that perhaps he’d judged Even, making the assumption that he was a rich and entitled kid. Last night, Even had told him he'd bought everything himself. Isak had, and still did, wonder how someone his age manage to do all that? 

Either way, it was none of his goddamn business. 

The next letter made him stop mid flight, his whistling coming to an abrupt halt—in sync with his feet. It was scrawled handwriting,his name heading the script. It had a single stamp and he knew exactly where it was from. 

Eskild must have spoken to his parents already, and Isak wasn’t mad at him for passing on the details of the new address. Moreso, Isak was frustrated that he couldn’t be here a full week before they knew where he was. So, this would be the start of the pestering. 

Isak didn't realise he’d started walking again until he pushed open the apartment door. His eyes kept running over the writing. His mum would always use tiny circles to dot the I’s, even above his name despite it being capitalized. 

None of their letters had been opened yet, just thrown straight in the bin. And it was a long time since he’d blocked their numbers on his mobile. He knew exactly what would be said, either over the phone or written; condemnation for the sin of his DNA that he could do absolutely fuck all about. He had no doubts about that, so what was the point in stressing himself out over it?

“Morning.”

Isak jumped, startled back into the present, where he stood inches from the kitchen work surface staring down at the letters in his hand. Looking up, he found Even with a tea towel over his shoulder, fussing over the pots that Isak had set out. He’d already showered apparently, wet hair slicked back, and dressed for the day. 

“Fuck—hi—sorry,” Isak stuttered, not sure what the fuck he was saying or what he’d been doing. He had been cooking breakfast. “I have it,” he said, moving over to where Even was standing. “I ate all the spaghetti so, you know,” he mumbled, like that explained everything. 

Placing the mail on the side, he tried to figure out the best way to shove Even out of the way without actually shoving him. Because that wasn’t nice. 

He saw Even glance over to the letters, probably curious about what had made Isak so disorientated. “You left the eggs on, you know scramble doesn’t take long to ruin? I came just in time to save them.”

The pan with the eggs had disappeared and there was a covered crock pot on the side that he assumed housed the saved scramble. His floundered for a response, talking had been easy yesterday and maybe this wouldn’t be so difficult to continue if he hadn’t received that goddamn letter. Fuck his parents.

“I was supposed to be cooking,” he said forlornly as he stared at the bacon, it was almost a perfect brown. Maybe one more minute and it was done.

He felt Even study him before he spoke, standing back from the stove. “It’s a joint effort,” he offered, before turning to the cupboards, “I’ll get the plates. You want some orange juice?”

Isak was nodding. The answer was easy, he liked juice. It went well with breakfast. “Sure.” One word at a time, he told himself.

The spinach and mushrooms had sweat down to perfection too, although there was something else in there now. Small white slivers of something. Before he could investigate further, the toaster popped and Even busied over to it. He’d put toast on, too. Isak had meant to do that. A knife began scraping butter over the toast. This was weird, cooking together. Good-weird, but weird all the same. 

Isak opened and closed his mouth three times before he managed the courage to ask. “What’s… what did you put in here?” he asked, trying to smooth his words so they didn’t sound too ungrateful and pointing at the mysterious white stuff. But adding to someone else’s cooking was slightly… presumptuous. 

“It’s a bit of garlic, just seasoning. I added some soured cream to the eggs too and a sprinkle of cheese…” he trailed off and Isak heard him place the toast on the table. Looking to his side, Isak found the plates that had been set out: one was from Even’s pristine set and the other a bright orange monstrosity that Isak had brought with him. 

Casting a glance over his shoulder, he saw Even was now sat at the table, the cups of orange juice on their coasters: one a plain mug that matched Even’s plate, the other Isak’s Mr Happy mug. It was a compromise, he reminded himself.

Then he realised Even was watching him staring at the mugs. “Cool,” he added quickly before turning back to the pans still cooking. Both were ready now so he turned off the heat. 

“I should have asked, sorry if I took over—”

Isak was shaking his head vigorously. “No, no,” he cut in, “it’s fine. Joint effort,” he added, as much to himself as Even. 

He bit his lip as he considered showing a weakness. After everything he disclosed last night, this really wasn't such a big deal. “Sana was kinda right about the seasoning thing. I usually overshoot the mark and put everything in if I try.” He began placing the food on the plates: bacon first and then the spinach and mushrooms before taking the lid off the eggs. It did smell good. “Rosemary, thyme, Caribbean barbeque…” he was smiling now because Even was laughing. Not at him, but because Isak was intentionally trying to be funny and it was working. 

“Chilli?” Even added.

“Chill, always Chilli,” Isak replied, grinning as he brought over the plates. 

“Cardamom?” 

Isak snorted, placing Even’s plate in front of him and the other in his own place setting before sitting down. “Cardamom is unique,” he said, with a faint reprimand of a tsk, “You use it carefully and only when you're trying to flirt with the person you're cooking for. It's a rule.” 

“Is that right?” Even asked with a laugh. Isak hummed his agreement. “Good thing we don't have any in the kitchen then, it would be mixed signals all over the place.” 

Isak snickered as he picked up a slice of toast. “That's true, neither of us need that shit.” 

“Nope,” Even agreed, forking some scramble on to his own slice of toast while a mysterious and reflective quite settled on them both. Isak frowned at his orange juice trying to unpick what had ushered the sudden impasse of words. 

His eyes skittered across the table top eagerly looking for a pleasant conversation piece. 

Even had brought the mail across. The two for Isak were in a neat pile on the corner of the table but Even’s letters had vanished. Where had he put them? 

“Is it bad news?” Even asked, cutting through Isak’s thoughts. 

“Hm?” Isak frowned back at Even as the fork disappeared between his lips; he had full lips and Isak tried to figure when exactly he'd made that observation because it didn't seem a new one. He'd never focussed on anyone eating before, did it always look that… salacious? 

Clearing his throat and dropping his eyes to his food, Isak put it down to his mind trying to escape the question by latching onto anything else to distract him. That was it. 

“It's my parents,” he answered, surprised by his own honestly. 

Even looked up from his food to take a sip of juice, the information seemingly unimportant to him. He didn’t press any further, and Isak felt quite comfortable with the two routes open to him: leaving it at that or divulging more information. 

“I don’t talk to them, they send me letters but I just put them straight in the bin.” His words sounded mostly nonchalant to his own ears, there was a slither of unease present. But whether that was due to how open he was being or the behaviour he was describing, Isak was unsure. 

Even returned the mug to its place slowly, Isak could see him thinking before responding. “I don’t speak to my parents either, so I know what that’s like.”

Isak slowed his chewing. Not only had Even built up his tiny empire on his own, but he didn’t speak to his parents? Was it a recent thing? Isak was confused by the excess of questions he had, usually he wouldn’t be so inquisitive but he couldn’t resist the desire to know more. “What happened?” he asked before his better judgement could banish the words from his tongue.

And, for once,  _ Even _ looked uncomfortable. His eyes darted away from Isak and he visibly turned the question over internally, searching for the answer he should give.

“Sorry, I shouldn’t—” Isak began, regretful that he’d been so rude. But Even shook his head, a weaker version of his usual smile in place.

“It’s fine,” he shrugged. “They’re dead.” The words were stated as simply as if Even had told him it was raining. 

Isak’s panic flared.  _ Fine _ ? That was not bloody fine. This was exactly why he didn’t ask fucking questions, because he alway asked the wrong ones. They were dead? And Even was so… matter of fact about it?  _ Fuck _ . “Shit, I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have—” 

“You didn’t know,” Even shook his head, he looked as composed as ever. Whatever hesitation he’d experienced was passed now. 

“I always put my foot in it,” Isak grumbled to his bacon, his cheeks heating at the irritation he held with himself.

But Even laughed again; it was light and somehow it made Isak relax, his shoulders releasing tension. Why was he the one tense? “You told me some personal shit last night; quid pro quo.”

“I didn’t mean to off load on you,” Isak replied quickly, he hadn’t either. It had just seemed OK to talk. Like it was OK to talk now, and cook, and ask the worst question possible. 

Even was shaking his head again, that fond smile on his face. “Isak, you worry too much. If you need to talk I’m here, I like listening—especially if it helps. And if I tell you stuff, it’s because I want to. There’s no right or wrong; we live together, we’re going to share information. OK?”

“OK,” Isak said, sighing out relief at the same time.

“Good,” he shovelled some spinach onto his fork, “You like the eggs?”

Isak had been sitting with scramble on the end of his fork for too long, and the question prompted him to take a mouthful. As he did, he couldn’t help but hum in appreciation. Even could season his food all he wanted. 

“It’s really good,” he said, going in for more. And, again, his mind was swirling with curiosity. “Where did you learn to cook?” Because it wasn’t just the eggs, whatever he’d done to the mushrooms and spinach was amazing too.  _ Just garlic? _

Even frowned thoughtfully, he didn’t look as uncomfortable as he did before, but there was definitely a certain amount of unease in talking about himself. Was Even just as isolated as Isak felt? 

“I started cooking very early. My mum would drink too much and never eat, I’d try to look after her in whatever way I could.” 

And here they were again, Even looked at ease grabbing another slice of toast while simultaneously shoving a piece of bacon in his mouth, and Isak was sat feeling like an utter idiot at out doing his bad questioning ability.  _ Fuck _ . 

“She must have appreciated it,” he offered weakly. What did you say to something like that?

Even just shrugged. “I don't think she remembered much at all.” 

Isak worked his mouth. There must be something he could say to make this tragic course of conversation slightly better. 

“Well,” he huffed, “That's her loss then.” Christ, he cringed at himself. She was dead, there was no fucking loss bigger—for him or her.

Even paused. Isak was sure he was going to get cussed at and see this seemingly constantly calm person lose it for the first time. He'd willingly pack his bags to leave without a fight. 

But the noise that came from Even was a shock; he was laughing. And it caused Isak to mirror him, despite being a weak and unsure imitation. 

“ _ Seriously _ ? That good? I've never cooked for anyone since, so this is news to me.” And he grinned, Isak still hadn't gotten a handle on the emotion that tugged at his gut when Even did that but he was mostly certain it wasn't discomfort now. 

“It's damned good,” Isak reassured. “Although, I did do half of the work,” he added with a smirk. Not the hard bit—he admitted to himself—but still worthy of credit.

“We make a good team,” Even said, no hint of sarcasm in his words. 

_ Team _ ? Isak had felt like an add-on or accessory to all his social groups for a long time now, he'd forgotten what it was like to feel on a team. “We even have a uniform.” Even added. 

Isak frowned at the remark before a half eaten piece of toast was gestured at Isak’s chest. Looking down, it took a heartbeat before it dawned on him what Even was talking about. 

“Fuck, it's yours? I didn't know… it was on the sofa, I just thought it was mine.” Isak spluttered, stumbling over himself to explain why he would just pick up Even’s hoodie and wear it like it was his own. That was rude. 

But Even was still grinning and simply shrugged. It was no big deal to him. “I don't mind. It kept you warm, right?” 

Isak licked his lips; Even was being beyond cool about everything. He found himself wondering if there was anything at all that he could do that would piss Even off—not that he would try. 

“Yeah, it did—along with your duvet, thanks for that. Thanks for everything, I've been meaning to say that since I moved in. You've been really welcoming despite me being… well,  _ me _ . And I appreciate that.” There. He'd done it, he’d finally thanked Even for being so damn nice. Why didn't it feel like it was enough? “Oh, and Sana said goodbye yesterday, I just didn't tell you. I think she likes you. And I like you too.” Isak froze, having tripped over his tongue to say enough, now he'd said too much. Who went around telling people they liked them like that? 

_ Fuck. Abort, abort. _

Forcing himself to inhale a long and slow breath, Isak looked up from his plate to find Even happily occupying himself with his food. The confession was unnoticed by him at least. Isak’s muscles began to loosen; it wasn’t so hard being nice he supposed.

“Awwww, that’s so sweet,” Even cooed, before glancing at Isak and winking. 

OK, not completely unnoticed, but the gentle tease didn’t seem to rankle Isak the way he expected it would. 

“But really, there’s nothing to thank me for; we live together, it’s what people do, right?” His fork hovered a few centimeters from his mouth—bacon on the prongs—and Isak blinked away. He felt some kind of anticipation, about what he wasn't sure. He definitely hadn’t been waiting to watch Even take another mouthful of food, that was for sure.

“I guess so,” Isak replied. 

He was focussing on his Mr Happy mug now. Did people do this when they lived together? Eskild, Noora and Linn had looked after him, but buying moving in gifts? And sacrificing their blankets for him? That just wouldn’t have happened. 

On his birthday, Eskild had brought him a jar of pickles and a packet of condoms and told him to practise, along with a card that said Isak needed to work with something similar in size to the  _ real thing.  _ Eskild making dick jokes; quelle surprise.

This all pointed to the fact that Even thought this was normal, but in Isak’s experience it was anything but. This made Even  _ nicer  _ than he had already estimated. Isak caught himself from groaning out loud at the revelation; he was bound to disappoint at some point. Sooner rather than later, naturally. 

“I was thinking,” Even began, completely unaware of the internal dilemma whirling inside of Isak. “I’m busy tonight and tomorrow, but did you want to do something Friday? I think I was supposed to make up for jilting you at the chopping board last night.” And he propped his chin in his palm, staring at Isak, anticipation and that general spark of amusement that always seemed to dance in his blue eyes. 

They were sky blue, Isak realised, like on a clear summer day when the sun is shining down on the back of your neck, and everyone is elated because it’s a fucking wonderful world. You’d sit by the dock, legs dangling with jeans rolled up, and leaning back on your palms, toasted by the heat of the pavement beneath them. The breeze would bring a spritz of sea spray ghosting over your skin and it would be a blessed relief to the sun pinked skin of your cheeks. 

“ _ What _ ?” Isak realised he’d lost the question completely, side tracked by a random thought that had put him in a daze. Where the fuck had that come from?

“You OK? You just glazed over.” Even was frowning at him; it made a small crease between his eyebrows that Isak’s brain made subconscious note of. 

Waving away the concern, Isak grabbed his drink and took a gulp. He was tired, that was all. “I’m just tired, but thanks.” 

He frowned into the mug, now half full. Or empty? What had been the question? Doing something.  _ Friday _ . 

“Friday?”

Even’s measured smile returned. “Yeah, you wanna hang out, just here?”

Isak floundered, grappling for an answer. There was no reason not to because they got on. There was no big deal about them hanging out. Would this mean he would be adding another friend to his circle? Or was it too soon to say they were friends? He hadn’t considered how having another friend would impact his life yet. 

“Sure, I’m not doing anything.” He heard his own voice say, not realising he’d given his mouth permission to accept the invite yet.  _ Fuck _ . Why wasn’t he in control right now?

But his discomfort was short lived because the measured smile grew into something much more generous, and something pulled at Isak’s gut again—that his acceptance to just spend time with Even would have that genuine reaction. His company meant something to Even, that realisation was bizarre and warm at the same time. He’d said he liked Isak, he said he found him interesting, and now Isak could see that perhaps that wasn’t just words. 

“Awesome,” he proclaimed before downing whatever was remaining in his mug and setting it down victoriously. “You need a lift to uni?”

This answer came easily to Isak. He had a lot of processing to do that a bike ride would help with. “It’s fine, I need the fresh air.” Was he supposed to say thank you everytime Even was accommodating? Because he could imagine not saying much else if that was case. 

His eyes travelled across the driftwood again, trying to find an answer to his conundrum, and it was then that Isak realised Even’s plate was clear, while his own was still half full. 

_ Half full.  _

“Cool. I’ll wash up, you still need to shower and change—but finish eating first.” The sentence was delivered with warmth in a way that made it tolerable for Isak to accept the guidance. He’d even looked for guidance last night, Isak remembered. 

Before Isak could nod, or agree verbally, or reach a conclusion about thanking him, Even’s long arm reached across the table, one finger elegant tapped twice on the corner of the letter from Isak’s parents. The motion was hypnotic. 

“Do you want me to get rid of this?” he asked softly. 

Isak chewed on his lower lip, a question coming to his mind that he felt comfortable asking. “What… er… what do you think I should do with it?” 

Even eased back in his chair, looking deep in thought and slightly surprised. “I don’t know if I’m any good with advice, Isak. I can listen, like I said.”

He wasn’t sure he believed that. Here Even sat, completely in control and independant with his own small empire with a self professed achievement of happiness. “What would you do then?”

Even looked inward, rare solemnity crept across his features before it just wasn’t there anymore. Like the briefest shadow cast by a flimsy cloud on that hot, summer day those blue eyes inspired. If Isak had blinked he would have missed it. 

“I would keep it somewhere until I was ready to read it. And if that time never came they would stay unread.”

Isak found himself nodding. See, that was good advice. There was no pressure in reading them just because he’d kept them. 

“OK,” he said simply. 

That surprise was back, and Isak found himself sighing gently in relief when it was accompanied by a laugh. “You’ll take my advice? Just like that?”

“It’s not  _ just like that,” _ Isak rebuffed, mimicking Even and rolling his eyes, _ “ _ —it’s logical. If it wasn’t, I wouldn’t listen to you.” And he grinned right back. 

But there was no reply, Even just continued to laugh softly before shaking his head and standing smoothly from the table. “C’mon baby bird, eat up.”

Frowning at Even, Isak picked his jaw up from the table top before managing to splutter out a one word, indignant, question.  _ “Baby bird?!” _

###  Even

The three of them were huddled in the corner table at Kaffebrenneriet. Having finally worked out a time they could all meet—Friday, midday—the coffee shop was equidistant between Even’s place and Magnus’s, which was now Eskild’s abode too. 

Eskild had been keen to meet outside of the club; it was too easy for him to become distracted, he’d said. And it was true from Even’s perspective, there were always issues that needed his attention, even during the day.

It was a good call, they had the cafe to themselves, disregarding the handful of people walking in for a take out. And it was pretty cosy,  _ and  _ warm—well away from the grey, drizzly cold. They were all leaning in to watch Magnus demonstrate the not-so-basic website he’d sculpted so far.

“So, there can be a chat dedicated to each night.” Magnus stated, leaning back in his chair, allowing Eskild and Even to lean closer. 

It looked good, better than what Even had admittedly been expecting. It was a simple but effective layout: black backdrop, clear and concise navigation, and gold font.

“And not just anyone can enter the chats?” Eskild said, turning to frown at Magnus in that serious way that wasn’t that common for him. Even was learning that he was pretty serious when it came to business, which was good—so was Even.

Magnus shook his head. “No, no, no.” It was said emphatically, obviously understanding the need for privacy. “Those that buy tickets get a password for the room where they can chat about the event: pre and post party.”

“I like it,” Even put in, approval clear in his tone which resulted in an eager smile from Magnus. “So, they can mingle before the event and keep in touch after?”

“Yeah. They can share media in there too: photos and videos. It’s up to them how they use that space but I don’t think it would need much moderation considering they only get in if they attend. And then it's up to you how long the chats remain active.” Magnus replied, folding his arms and waiting for Eskild’s conclusion on the work so far.

“Is there anyway newbies can have a little icon next to their handle, so the hosts and regulars know to make them welcome?” Eskild was back to scrutinising the screen. 

“Sure,” Magnus said. “Just let me know what you had in mind.”

“That’s a good idea, not leaving them on the outside. So, you want hosts online?” Even asked Eskild, who was already nodding, before sitting back in his seat and picking up his coffee. 

“Yeah, I want the hosts at the club to have some online time during the week where they can interact and answer questions. I think if we grow it that way, the community feel will be something different from any other club.”

Even found himself in unquestionable agreement. He’d never considered running a club both on and offline. Considering how everything was going online, it seemed the next logical step. This was becoming something unique. 

“This is fucking exciting.” He stated. 

“Right?” Eskild agreed with a grin, the seriousness now fading into his usual persona. 

Magnus still looked apprehensive, dividing a hesitant look between his other two business partners. “So, you like it—the whole thing?” His hand made a vague gesture at the screen.

“Of course, my little darling nerd.” Eskild grinned, and relief visibly spread through Magnus.

“Good,” he replied. “This is new to me but I'm learning as I go, and Mahdi is surprisingly clued up on design and shit. Like a natural flair.”

“Well, whatever you're doing, you're doing it right,” Even added encouragingly. “I'm not sure what I was expecting but this surpassed it.” 

Eskild was nodding. “As long as Mahdi isn't expecting a cut,” he put in with a playful snort.

Magnus shook his head. “He's just happy if he gets in when it opens. For someone who used to take the piss out of me for the whole dominatrix thing, he sure is getting excited about latex.” 

“I'll make sure I pick out some outfits I think he'll look good in,” Eskild mused, the prospect seemingly entertaining to him. Even wasn't sure he'd met Mahdi yet, not outside of a brief nod at the club. That would probably change soon. 

“I don't think he was the one intending to be in the latex,” Magnus replied, grabbing his drink and turning it in his hands. Probably to warm them, Even assumed; it was getting colder as they crept towards December. 

“I know,” Eskild said with a wink.

“Is Mahdi the one with the crazy hair, or the skinny one in the cap?” If he remembered correctly from their crew, there were only two more guys he wasn't acquainted with. 

Even wasn’t contemplating getting to know the girls’ names yet, though he assumed that the blonde one that Magnus shadowed like security was Vilde. Perhaps the  _ ball and chain _ nickname had been mean. Whatever it was they had it seemed to make them both happy. It wasn’t for him, but they were actually cute together from the snapshots he’d seen and heard. And of course he knew of Sana, but that was another story entirely—one she seemed willing to keep to herself. It was still bewildering to him how sometimes people seemed to pop up and connect the dots from two completely separate pictures.

Isak was a part of their group too but, him being him, he hadn't been with the others at the club the times Even had seen them there. Even imagined he'd chosen to stay at home and study, and the thought made him smile for whatever reason. In anyone else, he'd consider the trait boring. 

“Crazy hair is Jonas, skinny and cap is Mahdi,” Magnus answered quickly. 

“Grumpy and cap is Isak,” Eskild added. “But you already know that.”

Even sent him a long look before surprising himself and committing to the defense forming in his mind for his new house mate. “He's not grumpy.” And then there was a silence as Magnus and Eskild exchanged a baffled look. “ _ What _ ?”

“Are you sure we are talking about the same person? You didn’t kick our friend out already and replace him with someone else also called Isak?” Eskild put the rhetoric question out there with equal measures of amusement and disbelief.

“Ha ha,” Even replied dryly. “He’s  _ not  _ grumpy,” he asserted again before sitting back in his chair and picking up his own drink. He shrugged before taking a sip and continuing. “Just particular, and there’s nothing wrong with that.”

Magnus grunted a surprised laugh. “Particular? I guess that’s one way to put it.”

Even just shook his head. “He just needs his own space and time to do things in his own way. Why do you guys have a problem with that?” To their credit, they both looked abashed by the comment, Magnus even flushed with embarrassment. 

It felt intrusive to talk about Isak behind his back, so Even cleared his throat and focussed on the laptop screen. “So is the next step testing the website? I don’t think there’s much more to add.”

Nodding eagerly, Magnus quite clearly was keen to move on, too. “Yeah, there will be some glitches, of course, we just need to figure them out. Add the touches you both want and then it’s ready for whenever we are…” he trailed off, looking to Even because this part was his area.

“Shit, I almost forgot about that.” Even frowned at himself, then focussed on Eskild. “I did some digging, and there’s a client who has a lot of properties—I’ll send you his details.” He pulled out his phone with the comment, intending to do it right there and then before it slipped his mind. 

Eskild licked his lips with an apprehensive air as he looked to Magnus, who at this point was focussed on his laptop, scrolling through a menu and checking the links yet again. “Is he kosher?” he asked in a tone that could have been casual to Magnus’s ears, but Even knew what he meant.

The smirk served with the side long look he returned in response should have been all the answer Eskild needed. “You’ll just have to test the waters yourself, it’s probably above board. He’s Romanian, does a lot of business here, so,” Even shrugged. It could mean that he crossed all the t's and dotted all the i's, but it could also mean he was sloppy as fuck—Even had no idea how he ran his businesses. They could find somewhere else if Eskild wasn’t comfortable with it. He just knew they could probably cut a good deal here; Mr Bucharest had little patience, and the market was slow right now from what Even could figure.

Nodding, Eskild seemed to weigh up the information. “I’ll check him out and let you know what I think; nothing ventured nothing gained, as my aunt would say.”

“That’s a saying, Eskild, your aunt didn’t invent it,” Magnus snorted, still focussed on the screen.

“How do  _ you  _ know she didn’t? She’s really fucking old… still sweeps the floor with a broom—as well as the carpet. And she has a cat that’s older than me…” Eskild trailed off and Even could practically see his vivid imagination running wild. “Matter of fact, I think she’s a witch.”

“A drunk witch then—if it’s the same one with the whole “ _ somewhere in the world it’s happy hour”  _ mantra.” Even asked through a smile, Magnus was now watching them with a confused expression.

“The exact same one.” He paused to cock an eyebrow at Even. “You  _ know  _ her?”

“I  _ know  _ a lot of  _ interesting  _ people, Eskild. A drunk witch would be the tip of the iceberg,” he smirked back. 

Magnus still looked dumbfounded. Clearing his throat, he cut into the conversation. “As much as I’d like to be in on this coded conversation, I have dinner to make. If you don’t have any more suggestions?” He aimed the question at Even and Eskild over the brim of his mug as he drained the contents.

“No, I think we covered all the tweaks.” Eskild replied cheerfully. “And you better be making enough food for me,” he added, whilst cracking an imaginary whip.

Magnus rolled his eyes while he closed his laptop and slid it into his bag. “I don’t know what I was thinking letting you live with us,” he was muttering half to himself. “Between you and Vilde…” he left the rest unsaid, but he didn’t need to say anymore. Even could imagine it was like being a mouse caught between two playful cats.

“You love it, Mags, don’t try and deny it.” 

But the dead stare Magnus gave him in return was all the answer that was required. Even barely stifled his laughter. 

“It’s like being between a rock and a hard place, except the rock and the hard place are best friends.” Magnus stated pretty much what Even had been imagining, but he knew exactly where Eskild would take it before the sentence was over.

“And I know you love hard places,” Eskild snickered before wincing as Magnus kicked his shin. 

“There is no off button, Even,” Magnus was now pointedly ignoring the half laughter, half groaning coming from his housemate. “If you find it, let me know.”

“Will do,” Even reassured as Magnus stood, slinging his bag on his back. But Even was pretty sure the assessment was correct; there was no off button. “Same time next week?”

“Sounds good.” Magnus’s attention turned back to Eskild and that half serious frown appeared again. “I suppose you’ll be back home before work?”

“Of course, sweetheart, I wouldn’t want you to get lonely.” He tilted his head to one side and smiled sweetly at Magnus before blowing an air kiss at him. 

“God forbid I get some peace and quiet.” He was back to muttering at himself. But for all the protest, Even got the feeling they both were enjoying their living situation. It was something he could relate to now, he wouldn’t have thought he would enjoy living with someone. 

“You wouldn’t know what to do with peace and quiet, you’d pull your hair out after five minutes,” Eskild snickered.

Magnus looked about ready to argue that prediction, but then a small crooked smile pulled at his lips. “You’re probably right,” he conceded and not unhappily. “OK.” And his hand slapped the table to announce his departure. “I’ll see you next week,” Magnus nodded at Even before turning back to Eskild. “And you at home.” Then he made to leave.

“Make sure you wear the lacy ones I like.” The words were called out through the almost empty cafe, and the only response was a deep sigh as Magnus strode towards the door and a badly hidden giggle from the girl behind the counter. 

Even was shaking his head once Eskild was done grinning at himself. 

“ _ What _ ?”

“Nothing,” Even sighed. “So, you’re gonna check out that guy for venues later?”

“Of course,” Eskild assured, returning easily to that sensible work mode he adopted.

“And if you’re uncomfortable about anything, we’ll look for something else. OK?” Even wanted to reassure that just because he had provided this connection, they didn’t need to follow it. This was about them doing what they wanted to do confidently.

Eskild was nodding. “I know. If anything feels off, I’ll let you know.”

“Good.” He drank the last of his coffee before setting the mug down, but he could feel the cogs turning in Eskild’s mind; he wanted to say something. If Even was a betting man, he would say it would be something to do with Isak.

“You know,” he began, at last caving into the words that Eskild couldn’t deny himself, as he edged his chair closer to Even’s. “None of us try and force Isak to be anything he doesn’t want to be. He just changed all of a sudden, from being fairly relaxed to not letting anyone in. So, we worry—we do care though.”

Even felt empathy for them. It was hard to see someone that you cared about go through something difficult, a lot of the time all you could do was watch. He understood the need to want to fix it for them, but sometimes people needed to fix themselves. “He’s a strong character, and he has good friends. He’ll get over what happened, but in his own time.”

It was Eskild’s frown that let Even know he’d let on too much. “You know what happened?”

Even sighed. There was nothing for it but to be straight, he wasn’t going to give away any details. “Yeah, he told me.”

Laugh wanted to bubble from his chest when Eskild’s mouth dropped open in surprise.  _ “He told you?” _

“It’s no big deal, I’m probably the first person he’s been around outside of you lot. It must be easier for him to speak to someone who wasn’t there.” Even shrugged, trying to further the notion that it wasn't a miracle. He'd just been in the right place at the right time. 

But Eskild was shaking his head. “This is Isak Valtersen, even before that bullshit it took a Trojan horse and a bottle of vodka to really know what was on his mind.” He shot a disapproving gaze at Even. “Did you drug him?” 

Even snorted a surprised laugh. “What? No—” he began in defence but before he could go on, Eskild rode over him. 

“What are your magic powers then?” he insisted. “Because we've all tried.” 

“He was self medicating,” Even offered, because he really hadn't done anything other than be there. 

“Smoking?” 

Even nodded as Eskild chewed his lip thoughtfully. “He used to do that alone, like a solitary fucking habit, which is weird—weed is the most social drug.”

Blinking, Even bit back the words that were on his tongue. They'd smoked together; Isak had offered him the joint. Was  _ that _ different then? 

The pause in conversation only served to pique Eskild’s interest and he leant closer towards Even. “You smoked together?” 

It was too late now. “Yeah, he offered, I said yes. But it's really nothing, he's in a new place. Maybe it's just giving him the space to change his habits.” 

Eskild continued to stare at him, open mouthed, and on the verge of arguing Even’s point. But he decided to drop that line of enquiry, refocusing on whatever he thought the important point was. “So? What did he say?” 

Pursing his lips, Even shook his head. “I'm not gonna speak for him. If he wants to talk about it, he'll talk to you.” 

“Seriously? It's like that?” Eskild smarted, but a smile played on his lips. What did he find so amusing? 

“I'm not a gossip and I know neither are you.” 

Settling back in his seat, Eskild crossed his arms over his chest and wore an expression that could only be described as petulant. “Fine. Well, at least he is talking. That's good. That's  _ really _ good.” He looked inward for a moment, considering something before ploughing on. “And it's OK? Living together? He's not… cramping your style?” 

“Cramping my style? Why would he do that?” Even asked. Eskild had been the one that said Isak wouldn't interfere with his way of living. And he’d been right.  _ Mostly _ . 

“You said peculiar.” 

“Oh, yeah, but in a cute way.” Eskild’s stare was far too blank and Even scrambled to reiterate. “Like things are organised by size, or how much is left in a bag of tea. And his routines are so precise, the way he slices vegetables just so…” he trailed off, barely repressing a grin. He couldn't be the only one that found it endearing. 

“ _ Cute _ ?” Eskild repeated, obviously not sharing Even’s perspective. 

Even sighed in frustration, and feeling flustered at trying to explain himself. Why would he feel flustered about it? “You know, like a baby bird,” he stated, like that made all the sense in the world. 

“No, I  _ do not _ fucking know; a baby bird?” Eskild’s tone was now incredulous. “Isak is many things but not a baby bird.” 

“It's just he looks so lost and ruffled sometimes, and he flaps around…” he trailed off as Eskild’s expression shifted by a fraction, like a penny had dropped somewhere. But he said nothing, just continued to analyse Even with a quietly amused smile on his face. What the fuck was he thinking? “Anyway, things are fine. He's cool doing his thing, and I'm cool doing mine.” Why did he feel defensive?

“That's good to hear,” Eskild said softly—no quips or jokes. Even narrowed his eyes, fully expecting a trap to spring but none came. “Any plans for the weekend?” The question served with a casual smile. 

Even hesitated at the quick subject change. It wasn't like Eskild to back away from something he desperately desired to know, and Even knew he keenly wanted to know what was going on with Isak—and for all for the right reasons, Even was aware of that despite the way he’d criticised how they’d gone about it. But he welcomed the change of topic. And it wasn’t a characteristic of Even to get so tongue tied. 

“I have a client this afternoon and one Saturday night,” Even replied, starting off strong before realising where this would end up going. “We’re doing dinner tonight, and then I have some other work that I need to catch up on.” Both those subjects he felt cagey about; one he understood and expected, the other he did not. 

“ _ We're _ ?” Eskild repeated, that annoyingly knowing expression still on his face.

Even couldn't stop from rolling his eyes. “Me and Isak; we live together, it's normal.” 

And Eskild was nodding in agreement, trying to look bored, but Even could see some sort of delight whirring through him. Was it at seeing Even live with someone? Maybe he was becoming more human in Eskild’s eyes, rather than just part of the scene and a business partner. Somehow that explanation didn't seem to fit, but Even couldn't figure what else it might be. 

“Well, be sure to think of me whilst I slave away,” he said, with an overly dramatic sigh.

“You love being at the centre of things in that place,” Even snorted. 

“It’s true, I love my kingdom,” he admitted unashamedly. “But it won’t grow unless I can land a venue, so.” He slid his phone from his pocket to open the message Even had sent with Mr Bucharest’s details.

Even looked down at his watch. He needed to get moving too. “And I need to freshen up before  _ work,”  _ he grinned at Eskild who had raised an eyebrow at that.

“ _ Work, _ hmm?”

Even grunted defensively. “It  _ is  _ work.”

“I’m sure… so much  _ hard  _ work,” he snickered, before donning a thoughtful expression. “Does… Isak know what it is you do?”

Even frowned at the question. Why would Isak need to know? “No, it’s never come up. Why would I tell him?”

Shaking his head, Eskild tried too hard to maintain a blank expression for there not to be a reason behind the probe. “You live together, so it  _ might  _ come up. Isak is a lot of things but he isn’t judgemental, you don’t need to worry about that. I just think you should be honest.” The last sentence was said tentatively, as if Eskild was searching for a more delicate way to say that, but had failed.

Even was still perplexed by the argument. “I wasn’t worried about that—I know he’s cool about…  _ stuff _ .” He shrugged, why were his palms sweaty? “If it comes up, it comes up.”

“Good,” Eskild said with a content smile. 

And Even would be honest if it came up, he had no reason to lie. Lying wasn’t a part of who he was, he’d never felt the necessity to do so. It baffled Even as to why, then, had he lied the other morning at breakfast with Isak? The guilt still taunted him for that. Instead of telling the truth, or stating he didn’t want to talk about it, he’d lied and Even couldn’t figure out why. 

It was the first time someone had really asked him about himself, his life and past, and he’d panicked. That was new for him, too. But there had been no clear answer in his mind; it wasn’t as if he was firmly set against talking about himself, but he didn’t know where to start.

Did he want someone to know him? Not someone, Isak?

“You OK?”

Eskild was peering at him, concerned painting his face. Even snapped himself out of his self analysis. 

“Yeah, just tired,” he said. That wasn’t a lie either, he’d been running on less sleep than usual, and the usual was already pretty low. “Anyway, I’d better go,” he added as he stood.

“Don’t fuck too hard.” Eskild said; his own unique way of bidding Even goodbye.

“The client gets what the client wants.”

* * *

This client actually did like it hard— _ and _ rough. Usually it was pretty quick, but Even was  _ always  _ on top. She’d been acquiring Even’s services for just over a year now, and when they’d started out it had been booked hotel suites. It would be a demanding and long evening for him. 

He nicknamed her Miss V. Despite knowing most of his clients first names, he tried not to get personal. 

Miss V was a successful woman, a senior partner in a law firm. He had no idea her actual age, but he would say early forties if he’d had to guess. She had an appetite that could rival Casanova, and, as dominating as she was in her everyday life, Miss V wanted nothing more than to be dominated in bed—as far as Even was concerned. 

The hotel suites had stopped, and something much more fun—in Even’s opinion—had replaced those evenings. She’d book him in to her diary and Even would drop by her office. His  _ appointments _ seemed to coincide with important meeting or stressful hearings that she dealt with, he’d figured that out from small tidbits of information she would drop. People dealt with stress differently, didn’t they? And it only worked out for him; the price was still the same as the long evening, and these quickies were no more than thirty minutes.

And because their working relationship had been so long standing, he was already more than aware of what she liked, and what she didn’t. No messing with the hair—she didn’t have the time to redo it, avoiding any mess on her clothing, no marking where it could be seen, no loud noises. Of course,  _ she  _ would push that last point simply to feel Even put her in her place.

Right now her place was bent over her desk, skirt around her waist, as he fucked her mercilessly from behind. With hair off limits—it was up in a messy bun today—one hand grasped firmly at the nape of her neck to keep her position, the other hand was on her hip, pinching her flesh between his fingers in a harsh grip. He would leave bruises there, but she liked that. 

Even was convinced the secretary knew exactly what was going on by the way she smirked when he came, dressed in a suit, but not fitting in to the environment in any other way. Any strange noises would only add fuel to the fire, if not outright proclaim it to the world. Not that Even cared too much, and he sensed neither did Miss V. It’s not like anyone was going to do anything to her, she was too powerful. Even assumed everyone else was just as corrupt here, in one way or another. Human generally were inherently bad. 

Maybe there were a few exceptions. Like Isak, he seemed honest. Despite what he might think of himself, Even knew Isak cared for his friends. He proved it in the small things he did for them, like waiting up until he’d heard Sana had arrived home safe, or sticking up for Eskild if Even dared say anything that sounded remotely like a criticism. Isak even wrote little notes on the fridge to let him know what Even was running low on—did that mean Even was his friend too now? 

There were more little things he would do that Even knew Isak was completely unaware of doing that just proved the quality of his character. 

He  _ was  _ cute; Eskild was just being difficult. 

“Harder,” she breathed, looking back over her shoulder—as much as she could with Even’s fingers holding her neck the way he was. 

Blinking back into the present, Even mentally scolded himself for losing concentration. He kept getting distracted, and that wasn’t a trait of his—not at work anyway. He came, he assumed a role until the job was done, never dropping the facade. But lately he kept phasing in and out of seemingly inconsequential thoughts. Maybe it was the lack of sleep?

But there was something more. 

Usually his true self would be behind a wall, Even would be someone else, he would be Romeo and Romeo wanted  _ this  _ woman… or wanted  _ that  _ man—or whoever the fuck he was paid to want. His senses would be tricked by his own determination in making whatever Romeo touched, tasted, or saw being desirable in that moment. It had to be believable.

Today, when his fingers crept over her flesh, he felt something he could only describe as disappointment. Like they were searching for something else, and this was not it. If he kept this up, he was going to find himself fighting for his own arousal, and that truly would fuck everything up. 

Overstretching himself, undersleeping, or whatever was going on, he needed to get a fucking grip. And if  _ she  _ had to tell  _ him  _ to fuck her harder, there was an issue. 

He felt himself frown, a severe expression adopted as he focussed on her and the job at hand. Pulling out roughly, he learnt over her to push the sparse items littering the desk to one side. Then he forced her around, pushing her back onto the table. She smirked at him, that was until Even pulled her knees apart, gripped her thighs and pushed his cock harshly back inside of her, slamming his body against her to further punctuate his dominance.

It was his turn to smirk as she let out an indignant yelp, her hand clasping over her mouth a moment too late.

“You’d better use both hands, I wouldn’t want you to make a scene,” he said coldly as she mewled. 

Holding onto her hips and fucked into her, perhaps more enthusiastically then he usually would, given where they were—items were falling from the desk at the impact of his body against hers. But he felt like he was trying to prove something to himself, and the sound of flesh slapping against flesh filled the space, interspersed with desperate and barely muffled moans, gave him that validation as well as something to focus on, to get through this and stay in character.

“When I have you next time in some privacy I’m gonna show you just how hard I can be,” he told her, watching in satisfaction as her eyes rolled back. 

He could do this, there was no issue. He just needed more sleep. 

Would they stay up late tonight? Even began to ponder what they might get up to, or what movies they might watch, like they intended to the other night… He caught himself drifting again. 

_ Focus, for Christ’s sake.  _

One of his hand moved up her body as she still obediently clasped both palms over her mouth. It stopped on her neck, knowing this was a major weakness for her, and something that wouldn’t leave any marks. His thumb and forefinger slid around her windpipe, as he gently applied pressure, pinching those two digits closer together. 

The trick wasn’t to push down on the neck, but to impede the airway, restricting the ability to breath. It wasn’t an uncommon kink, he’d had it done to him as much as he’d done it to others. The control, and stop and start of oxygen flow to the brain, only made the hit of endorphins that much more intense. 

Her groans ceased, in place of shallow breaths that he could feel her fighting for beneath his palm. One of her hands dropped to clutch at the edge of the desk and the other wrapped around Even’s wrist, her fingernails digging in; he didn’t mind being marked. Whenever this quiet descended, he knew she was close.

His grip on her throat kept her in place, leaving the hand anchoring on to her hip free to move, finding the wet, soft skin between her legs. Even applied tender strokes of his fingers to contrast the hard pace he was fucking her at. She kept up her gasping as he released his grip before tightening it again; a consistent ebb and flow.

Then she held her breath, her thighs shaking against him, and he let go of her throat one final time to push his palm over her mouth, knowing she was incapable of controlling herself right now, or actually giving a fuck about how loud she was going to be.

Even caught it just in time, a pained moan ripped from her as she arched beneath him, eyes closed and her breath wet on his palm. But he didn't let up on his motion until she jerked and whimpered, over sensitive and completely spent. 

Moving back, he wiped his hand on his trouser leg before sliding from her, pulling his condom off and chucking it in her wastepaper bin. He hadn’t come but that wasn't unusual. He only really did so if it was desired by the client, and Miss V was only concerned about getting herself off. There was nothing wrong with that, she was paying for a service that he provided.

He should feel a sense of satisfaction, that was normal for him knowing the power he had in these situations over someone else's pleasure, knowing their weaknesses and playing to them, leaving them undone. 

Right now, he didn’t feel anything except eagerness to get away, showering and spending the evening chilling out… with Isak; with a friend.

He grasped her elegant, outstretched hand, pulling her upright. She was recovered enough to speak at least. “I look forward to seeing you follow through with your statement,” she said, still breathless. When he simply frowned, she elaborated. “About being hard? When we’re in private?”

_ Fuck _ . His mind was everywhere. In truth, he was wondering himself what the hell he had in mind. Still, she didn’t know that. “You’ll have to wait and see.” He added a grin and she laughed softly, sliding from the desk. 

He bent to pick up some of the papers he’d managed to knock all over the floor, leaving her to adjust her clothes and find her underwear. Even wasn’t sure where he’d tossed it, but it couldn’t have gone far because, by the time he’d reorganised her desk and stood to face her, she looked as put together as he imagined she would look arriving in the office first thing in the morning. 

“I may have a proposal for you,” she said, her businesslike manner assumed now the fucking was done.

He arched an eyebrow. “Oh, what's that?”

“A friend,” she replied. Opening a desk drawer, she rummaged around until she pulled her phone out. She focussed on the screen for a moment, tapping a few times on it until she handed it over to Even. 

He studied the picture she was showing him, it could have been a linkedin profile, but he wasn’t sure. It was a guy, probably around the same age as her, dark curly hair, a bit of scruff and wearing glasses. He wasn’t sure how he knew it, but the guy looked somewhat grumpy. Despite that, he was a good looking guy—he had a pretty mouth in any case. 

“He’s interested in business?” he asked, handing the phone back to her. 

She nodded. “He was actually wondering about tonight but I said you don’t really do late notice.” She shrugged, pushing a strand of hair behind her ear and pulling a makeup bag out from the same open drawer. 

Even chewed on his lip. “I can’t do tonight, I already have plans.”

She just nodded, as if she expected that answer. But she probably imagined he was busy with another client rather than ditching money to eat oven pizza, or whatever the fuck they were gonna do. Christ, had he ever blown off a client when he was technically free? He hadn’t even considered the question. 

“But pass on my number, if you can vouch for him. We’ll see if he wants to do a different date.” Even added. Another source of potential income was a good thing, he told himself. 

“I can, and I will do,” she said brusquely, applying a deep red gloss to her lips perfectly without even needing a mirror. “I have to run,” she said, zipping up the bag and chucking it back in the draw. “Do I look OK?” she asked before turning on her heel to give him a three sixty.

“Perfect.” She nodded perfunctorily at his answer, as if she’d been expecting just that. She was right to have so much confidence, anyone deserved that in their own skin.

Even was already moving towards the door, giving himself a once over as well to make sure there was no evidence of what had just occurred maring him. “Go get ‘em,” he said over his shoulder, shooting her his best grin. 

She was already busy yanking open a filing cabinet to pull out some files. But she looked at him long enough to wink. “Will do. I’ll call.”

“I’ll be waiting.” 

And with that he slipped from the room, pacing across the office space so entirely focussed that he missed the secretary’s barely contained snicker.

He wouldn’t have cared had he seen it, because Romeo had been cast off now and he had somewhere he had to be. Somewhere  _ Even  _ wanted to be. 

###  Isak

Stretching his legs out, Isak closed his eyes. He actually loved his new bed, it was just the right amount of firm and soft. He could quite happily hibernate here, all he needed was food. 

The apartment was most probably quiet, but he couldn't be sure because his headphones covered his ears, enjoying one of his guilty pleasures. Sometimes when he needed to feel comfort, he put this one track on repeat. It never failed to bring his emotions to the surface, there were times he needed help in that department. 

It wasn't as if he felt upset right now, just mildly confused. He wasn't sure what it was that seemed twist and warp his emotions into something unrecognizable but he was trying to sift through and pick them apart. 

He'd watched the shadows creep across the ceiling as the sunlight dwindled, now the only light in the room came from his lamp. He'd been thinking a while and come no closer to figuring himself out. He did, however, keep coming back to a thought that made him bite his lower lip. 

_ Would Even bail on him again? _

Then—as soon as that question presented itself—he would snort to no one's benefit but the empty room. What did it matter anyway? He would just probably sleep if that happened. He liked his bed. He liked sleeping. That was as good a plan as any. And he wouldn't be disappointed whatsoever.  _ Nope _ . 

Pushing that topic clear from his mind—content with his conclusion—he would try and unpick his confusion again only to end up inevitably at that same nerve fretting thought: thinking about his and Even’s plans. It was an unproductive cycle, that much he could detect.

Closing his eyes, he decided not to think. Not about the time or his tumultuous insides or his housemate. He just focussed on something very simple: breathing. 

_ Fucken baby bird?  _

He should be mad about that, and he still couldn't believe the audacity of Even giving him a nickname. Isak had tried to find one in retaliation but the best he could come up with was giraffe. It didn't seem to have the same god damn weight as  _ baby bird _ . 

It should have been patronising, Isak  _ should  _ have been indignant. But mostly he was taken aback because the only nicknames he'd ever accrued had been ones used to tease. When Even explained himself, it was said endearingly—that was just damn bizarre. 

And so here he was, supposed to feel one thing, yet feeling something entirely different that made absolutely no sense. 

Even was strange, and it made him strange by association. That was his best conclusion so far. 

_ Fucking stop thinking, Isak.  _

Isak successfully lost himself—he wasn't sure for how long—by putting all his focus into breathing along with the rhythm of the music.  He zoned out and simply followed the notes the voice in his ears followed, cascading down the words of the chorus.

That’s why it was an abrupt and petrifying shock when he felt something touch his foot, and he couldn't control the yelp that lurched from his entire body as he yanked his foot away from whatever it was that was touching him.

Sitting upright, his eyes shot open to find an awkward looking Even, seemingly as uncomfortable and panicked like he was picking his way through molten lava. This was the first time he’d stepped foot in Isak’s room since the moved in date. 

Isak slid his headphones down until they hung around his neck, his heart still hammering in his chest. “Jesus Christ,” he breathed.

“Fuck— _ sorry _ . I didn't mean to scare you. I knocked… like, several times. And then I called out…” his stuttered apology and explanation trailed off as he took uneasy steps backwards—towards escape. Isak could visibly see him regretting the choice to enter Isak's personal space. That was something Eskild would never have felt. 

“It’s fine,” Isak reassured quickly, resting back against the wall and trying to look casual, which was in direct conflict with his reaction and tone.  _ Fuck _ . And then Even’s words sunk in. “I wasn’t scared,” he protested.

The corners of Even’s mouth twitched, Isak knew what that was now; he was trying to repress a smile. “You almost fell out of bed,” he replied, voice just a smooth as normal now.

“Well, you  _ did  _ creep up on me.” And it was true, all of a sudden— _ BOOM— _ there was Even, just when he’d managed to stop thinking about him for a still yet unknown god damn reason. Isak hadn’t been prepared or anything… not that there was any preparing he needed to do, it was just his flatmate. 

Even snorted. “How else was I supposed to let you know I’m here? I tried all the conventional methods and you were still in your own little world.”

Spluttering, Isak tried to find a way around Even’s defense. He was right, of course, that didn’t mean he needed to scare the shit out of Isak—not that he was scared. “There are other ways—”

Isak cut off as Even’s smile spread, he wasn’t hiding his amusement now. “Like singing?” And he leaned casually against the wall.  _ Too  _ casually. 

“What?” A cold sensation swirled in Isak’s gut. Had he been singing?

Even snorted before opening his mouth, instead of speaking he began singing in a low tone. And, if Isak hadn’t been so mortified, he would have preened in the fact he could hold a tune better than Even could. There was something he could do with more finesse than Even. Regrettably, he was mortified as fuck and that took precedence over his ego. 

_ “Isak, it’s me, Even, I’ve come home now. I’m so cold, let me in to your window… Oooh, it gets dark, it gets lonely, on the other side from you…”  _ Even cut off as his laughter took over. His eyes crinkled at the corners when he laughed. When had Isak noticed that? It didn’t seem like a new discovery. How did someone’s whole face express joy quite so well?

“Was I singing?” Isak asked, feeling numb and dumb in double measures.

But Even did that thing where he tilted his head and it took the edge off the embarrassment—for a heartbeat at least. “You were only singing it,” he looked down at his watch, “ten minutes ago when I got in. I had a shower and you were still singing it when I knocked…. So, yes, you were singing. How long you’ve been singing the same song for I have no idea. Were you listening to it on repeat?”

Well, fuck. Isak wasn’t sure if he’d been this horrified. That wasn’t true, worse had happened—he  _ knew  _ it—but still it didn’t lessen the feel of exposure when he accidentally let slip a piece of himself. Something no one else knew.

“Shit,” he mumbled, grabbing a pillow to bury his face in. His cheeks were burning. 

Weight landed on the end of his bed just before a light touch landed on his knee. The contact seemed to do the opposite to what Isak imagined. He shied away from contact in general, it never felt all that natural to him. But he relaxed under Even’s hand. 

“Hey, it’s fine. I wasn’t teasing, it was sweet. You’re a good singer.”

Isak peeled the pillow away from his face to throw an unimpressed look in response to Even’s outright lie. 

_ Sweet _ ! 

Any reprisal got stuck in his throat though. 

_...sweet? _

The hand on his knee didn’t move as Even continued to metaphorically wave a white flag. “ _ What _ ? You can sing. And even if it’s embarrassing, we all have things we hide. It’s just between us,” he reassured. 

Isak still felt the need to retaliate, despite half of his focus being centred on that one warm spot where Even’s body was touching his own. Even couldn’t be the only one holding cards, although Isak knew he would never play him with any secrets he held. He wasn’t sure why he felt that so strongly but he did. “So, what do  _ you  _ hide?”

Sighing, Even looked to the ceiling, obviously trying to find something he felt ashamed of. Somehow, Isak didn’t think much would shame him. “I like Gabrielle?” he offered.

Snorting, Isak shook his head. “Firstly, I already knew that. Secondly, that’s nothing on Kate Bush.”

“OK—OK. Well,” he paused, biting his lip and shooting the briefest glance at Isak, as if weighing up whether he should go on. But he did. “I’ve never kissed anyone before. Is that secret enough?”

Isak frowned at Even, sure that this was some kind of joke. How could  _ he  _ have not kissed anyone before? “Fuck off,” he erupted in disbelief, pushing against Even with his barefoot. “Liar.”

“ _ What _ ?” Even sounded genuinely scandalised. “It’s true. Never wanted to, never have.” And he shrugged like it was as simple as that.

Isak realised his mouth was open so he closed it. “But I thought you were… in the scene… like… you know.” Isak was facing more judgement that he’d cast on Even without realising. He’d just assumed the same blasé attitude that Eskild held towards relationships and sex was shared by Even. 

Even smirked at him. “I do my thing, I have my fun. I just see no need to kiss.”

“So you mess around?”

“Yup.”

“But you don’t kiss?”

“Nope. Am I missing anything?”

So, Even fucked around but didn’t kiss? That just seemed—no, it didn’t matter what it seemed. Fuck normal, that was his motto. Even had accepted him for whatever he was, and Isak could at least extend the same courtesy. 

“No, I guess not.” Isak flushed again, not with embarrassment, just at being under the spotlight as he was apparently the one with the experience here. Isak: the virgin. “I’ve only kissed two people, so I’m not an expert on the subject. And one was a beard anyway.” He surprised himself by laughing when Even did. It reminded him again that it wasn’t so hard to be known.  

“Well, judging by your review, I’m sticking with the argument that I’m not missing out on anything.”

Isak fought with his tongue. His natural reaction, as a man of science, was that things should be tried and tested before any discovery or truth can be made. And he did believe that; maybe Even would like kissing. 

With the poor girl he’d picked, it had been following a dance routine; robotic and premeditated. Isak had been trying to act and be what was expected, rather than kiss because he wanted to. And with the guy in the club, Isak had been too drunk to know what was going on. Besides,  _ that  _ particular mouth hadn’t spent much time on Isak’s lips anyway. He was far from an expert and Even shouldn’t take any advice from his pathetic experience. 

The memory burnt shame in Isak, and any defence he’d been preparing for the art of kissing was thrown into that fire.

“All that shit is dumb anyway,” he said sourly.

Even pursed his lips, seemingly to know there was a sensitive spot that had been touched upon. Effortlessly, he glided the conversation elsewhere. “I would never have had you as a Wuthering Heights kinda guy,” he nodded at the poster on the wall, which was an abstract portrait of Biggie. “Even if you are on the wrong side of the east/west coast shit.”

Isak rolled his eyes. “You're a Tupac fan?”

“Of course,” and he began counting facts off on his fingers, “He made more music, he had a better message— _ mostly _ , he’s still releasing tracks, and he could write his own music.” He finished his argument with a smug smile, leaning back on Isak’s bed. Whatever discomfort he’d felt a few minutes ago had all melted away, so it seemed to Isak at least. 

Isak just snorted. “Biggie wrote his own music.”

But Even was shaking his head before Isak had finished. “Apparently he wrote down what he wanted to rap about and someone else made it rhyme.”

“Where did you hear that?”

He shrugged. “Some documentary, ages ago.”

“Sources?” Isak demanded, quirking an eyebrow and sticking his chin out in the way he did when stubborn overrode him.

Even was laughing again. “I don’t care  _ that  _ much. I’m just saying, Biggie sucks is all.”

It was his turn to shake his head, and Isak added to disapproval by tutting. “I can’t believe we ended up living together, there should have been a questionnaire.”

“Right?” Even agreed. “Next time I’m looking for a roommate I’ll remember that.”

“Next time,” Isak mused, and—for whatever reason—solemness settled on him. Even’s laughter wound down, too. These moments were decidedly odd, and the exact instances that added to Isak’s confusion. What was he feeling? Insecurity? Over what exactly?

“So, what made you put on Kate Bush? There has to be a reason you play it on repeat.” He was laying on his side now, across the foot of Isak’s bed, chin resting in his palm and those summer blue eyes staring straight into Isak’s depths.

Isak wanted to answer. 

“It helps me think, when I need to…  _ reflect _ .” He wasn’t sure that was the right word for what he meant but Even was nodding like he understood. 

There was a lull in the conversation as Even just watched him, anticipating that Isak would say more. And there  _ was  _ more on his tongue. “My mum used to listen to her a lot, and I always liked that song. It made me  _ feel, _ if that makes sense.”

“It does,” Even said softly. He paused, and Isak watched him consider the words he wanted to say next, twisting his mouth in that thoughtful way he did. “What happened between you and your parents?” 

Isak sighed and rested his head back against the wall, staring at the ceiling. What could he say? “To be honest, nothing.”

“Nothing?” Even asked, surprise and disbelief in his tone.

“Nothing  _ factual _ , anyway.” Isak looked down at the pillow in his lap, plucking at a stray thread. “The principle called them and told them what had happened. I know they  _ know _ . I also know I was brought up not to live in sin,” he couldn’t help the way he ground out those words, distaste in his mouth over them being there. “Which is what they’ll think I am: a fucking sin.” His shoulders relaxed as he took a deep breath. “They wouldn’t stop calling so I blocked their numbers. Now they just write, and I’m sure they call Eskild and Jonas but I don’t care.”

There was another pause. “But you don’t know?” Even pressed.

He should have felt defensive but Even was right. He didn’t. “I don’t know for sure, but from my experience, especially my mum, all they’ll want to do is tell me how wrong I am—but this is who I am. I just want to be me, be accepted as me, be liked for me…” 

_ To be loved for who he was _ . 

Isak couldn’t bring himself to admit to that last point though. 

“Well,” Even said, picking up the conversation. “If anyone can predict your parents, it’s you. Just bear in mind that sometimes we can all be wrong, no matter how well informed we are—as I’m sure you’re aware, Mr Science Guy.”

Isak glanced over to his desk as he grunted a laugh; Science Guy was better than baby bird. But he found himself attached to baby bird now—he wasn’t about to admit that. 

His eyes came to rest on the draw he’d slid the letter with his mother’s handwriting scrawled on it, pushed underneath notebooks and texts. It was there but hidden. 

Even had highlighted a thought that kept niggling at Isak lately. They were trying to connect, but his history only warned him that that reconnection would hurt. Even if what they said was well meaning, he didn’t want to listen as they disowned him because of the attraction that had always been within him, that he could do nothing about, and that he wasn’t about to deny. 

Fear held him back. 

“I guess,” he murmured into the quiet between them. These silences were never awkward, confusing at times, but never awkward. 

“C’mon,” Even announced suddenly, nudging Isak’s knee with his palm again and stirring that warmth. Isak watched as he stood from the bed.

“What?” But Even didn’t answer, simply looked over his shoulder and nodded for Isak to follow. And so he did.

The hall was dark, but soft light spilled from Even’s room, highlighting the crack left open. That’s where they were heading to and Isak’s stomach clenched in what could only be described as anticipation. By the way that Even treated Isak’s room, and the fact he never brought anyone back to the flat, this was a sacred space for him. That was probably why he felt nervous; this was a privilege. 

Even pushed the door open, Isak watched as his fingers splayed and his palm pushed flat against the surface in the elegant way he did just about everything. And then Isak’s bare feet were moving over the carpet of his bedroom floor, his eyes trying to take everything in at once.

Purple  _ must  _ be Even’s favorite colour. The curtains were a deep shape of the hue, drawn across the window that spanned one wall, the bedsheets had been changed since Isak had last seen them but were still a royal purple, and a towel hanging from the wardrobe door was an almost identical match to them. The carpet was cream, it matched the light colour of the furnishings, and it was minimal in design. Isak was surprised there wasn’t more stuff though, and perhaps disappointed. He realised he wanted to know Even, so he searched for any small clues lingering in the space. 

There was a sound system that looked expensive, but what did Isak know about that shit? He only played music from his laptop or phone. The system sat on a high corner shelf, and two speakers were fixed to the walls. There was a large TV attached to the wall opposite the bed. The walls were cream, like the carpets, and just one thing decorated them as it hung over the bed: a painting of an abstract and feminine silhouette over a richly coloured and fragmented background. It was simple but intriguing. The medium used madeit feel textured; something you could feel as well as see. 

There was one photo frame placed on a set of drawers, but Isak was too far away to make out the picture, and he didn’t want to make his analysis obvious to Even. It sat next to a vase that didn’t quite match the room; black backed with colourfully painted flowers sprawling all over it. But the vase itself was empty. And next there was a battered old journal, it was a tattered leather thing that was probably almost as old as Isak with a worn leather string that wound around it to keep it closed. That was also wildly out of place, but at the same time it seemed to fit in with Even. He himself presented a calm perfect surface, but interesting and unusual facets seemed to lay underneath.

Apart from a laptop sat on a clear desk, and shelves neatly crammed with DVD’s and what looked like large fantasy tomes, that was all there was. 

“So, you’re the one person in the world that still watches DVD’s?” Isak asked with a grin.

Even quirked his eyebrows and Isak’s stomach seemed to jump with them. “I only buy DVD’s for the movies I really love, I just like to have them in physical form. I don’t know why.”

“Those are the ones you really love? You love a lot of movies,” he mused, scanning the titles. There were a lot he didn’t recognise. 

“I like movies. What’s your favorite?” Even asked, flopping onto the bed and picking up his phone from the bedside table before scrolling through it. 

“Favorite movie?” Isak shrugged, he wasn’t sure if there was one that stood out for him. “I like Shrek,” he offered, unable to stop himself smiling when Even let out another one of his light laughs. People said laughter was medicine and he was starting to believe it might be true.

“What’s so special about Shrek?” he asked. Somehow he’d hooked up his phone to the sound system, and a song started playing, one that Isak didn’t recognise. 

Isak dithered a moment before edging forward and perching on the side of Even’s mattress. The cotton of the sheets felt smooth beneath his palm, it was probably expensive too.

“It’s all about fucking off people’s expectations, being who you want, loving who you want. There’s lots of low key dick jokes thrown in there as well.” 

“Dick jokes make a movie,” Even agreed. “Those are honourable reasons to love something,” he added sincerely.

“What about you?”

Even sighed. “If we’re going to talk about my favorite movies we’ll be here a long fucking time.”

“We have all night,” Isak replied. The surprised look Isak received in return was unfiltered and pure, and it made him feel a stab of sorrow that Even—this enigmatic and charismatic person—would be so surprised at someone being fascinated in his interests. Were they both as alone as each other?

“Maybe another night,” he said softly. “The reason I asked you to come was this song.” Even nodded at the speakers.

Isak focussed on the song. It had started with piano and now a woman was singing, it was slow and soft. He missed the first chunk of lyrics but began to listen carefully:

_ To you I would give the world, To you I'll never be cold, Cause I feel that when I'm with you, So right, I know it's right, And the songbirds are singing like they know this chorus, And I love you, I love you, I love you, Like never before… _

Even cleared his throat, looking nervous or embarrassed about what he was sharing. “This is my Wuthering Heights. My nan used to sing it to me when I was younger; when I was with her was the only time I remember feeling safe. So it comforts me, helps me figure stuff out. You shared with me, so…” he chewed on his lip, words running out and Isak recognised that sudden regret in letting someone in, even if it was a small part of you that you had shown.

“It’s a beautiful song,” he said, feeling the need to reassure Even. “Who’s it by?”

“Fleetwood Mac, about as uncool as Kate Bush.” He was grinning now.

“We both like uncool music. That’s something.”

“That’s something,” Even repeated, suddenly introspective. He opened his mouth to say something, and Isak’s ears ached to catch what was coming but his stomach ruined the moment as it complained and fucking loudly.

“Fuck, I forgot the food,” Even exclaimed, getting up from the bed. “We can eat in here, I’ll get it.” And he hurried out the door, like Isak’s stomach had barked a command. 

Isak stared at the doorway as the music wound to a close, not quite sure what to do with himself. Managing to restrain himself from walking to the drawers and checking out the single photo in that simple silver frame, he instead shuffled up the bed until he was propped up against a mountain of pillows. How did Even sleep comfortably with all of them? Did he take them all off before he went to bed and then rearranged them in the morning? You couldn’t possibly need all of these.

Just as he was mentally visualising how Even’s long limbed self would look sprawled over this multitude of plush cushions—and probably still look fucking graceful—Even came bustling back into the room. Laughter burst from Isak when he took in the items he held.

“Wine and McDonalds? On what fucking planet?”

Even shot him a feigned indignant look. “On this fucking planet. I like wine, and everyone likes McDonalds. I got you a milkshake, you seem like a vanilla milkshake type of person.”

Taking the bag offered to him, Isak frowned up at Even. “Was that a joke about me being vanilla?”

Snorting, Even shook his head. “You have a one track mind, Isak. And no it wasn’t.”

Isak spluttered at the accusation. “Well if I have a one track mind, it’s because of the company I keep.”

“ _ Sure _ ,” Even smirked, walking to the otherside of the bed. “I believe you, thousands wouldn’t, Isak, but  _ I _ believe you.”

“Good,” Isak nodded to himself, ignoring Even’s sarcasm entirely. 

The wine had already been uncorked and Isak watched in fascination as Even poured himself a glass. His thumb was placed in the dip in the base and his fingertips somehow balanced the weight just at the end. Isak wasn’t sure why these seemingly innocuous gestures seemed to hypnotise him. He also didn’t notice Even watching him right back.

“You want a glass?” 

“Hm?” Isak replied absentmindedly. “Oh, what is it? All I know is that’s red.”

“It’s a Barolo, from Piedmont. One of my favorites.” He handed the glass to Isak to try. 

_ Why not?  _

Taking the glass by the stem, Isak put the glass near his nose and sniffed like he knew what he was doing. “Well, it smells like fucking wine.” He grinned up at Even as Isak earned himself another round of that laughter.

“That’s reassuring. I think I’ll need you with me if I ever go wine tasting so I can be sure that it  _ is  _ fucking wine.”

“Deal,” Isak replied before taking a sip. “Tastes like wine, too.” He gave his verdict, licking his lips. It was nice, he had no experience in this field but it was rich and smooth. “I didn’t know you were a wine person; I figured you were a straight vodka type. Like Eskild.”

“Whatever you do, don’t tell Eskild. He thinks I'm a straight vodka type, too. I’ll never hear the end of it.” Even mused with a grin, before stepping back from the bed and turning towards the door.

“Where are you going?” Isak cringed at himself for the directness of his question, asked like he had a right to know. But the words had come from some need to not be alone again, which was pathetic really considering it would take Even’s long ass legs twenty seconds to get another glass and come back.

Even sent Isak a puzzled look over his shoulder. “To get another glass?”

“We can share. It’s not like I have cooties. Plus, I’m such a lightweight I probably won’t have much more than this.”

Shrugging, Even flopped back onto the bed, crawling over the covers to sit next to Isak. “You’re the boss.”

“I doubt that,” Isak mumbled, staring into the bag. “What did you get?”

“Big Macs,” Even replied, digging into his own bag and shoving a couple of fries in to his mouth. The other hand pulled out his burger. Isak was quite happy munching on the loose fries at the bottom of the bag while his other hand was occupied with the glass of wine. His burger could wait.

If this all wasn’t bizarre enough, the curious way Even peered under his burger bun was. Isak frowned as Even made a disgusted noise and screwed up his nose.

“What?”

“Fucking gherkins,” he said. “I said no gherkins.”

“You  _ don’t  _ like gherkins?” Isak asked, scandal clear in his voice.

The question earned Isak the focus of Even’s disgust.  _ “You do?” _

“Of course I do, they’re fucking delicious,” he asserted, his hand shooting forward to steal the two slices that had been exposed. “You don’t deserve gherkins, Even,” he admonished. “They are too good for you.”

Even was shaking his head, laughter taking over from the disgust. “This is another one for the questionnaire.”

“Anyway, gherkin hater,” Isak steamrolled on from that particular tangent, it touched a nerve. “Are we gonna watch a movie?”

“Sounds good. What do you want to watch?”

Isak frowned as he took another sip of wine. It was really good. “You pick; you’re the expert.”

There was a hesitation as Even absorbed Isak’s words. “OK,” he replied finally. “How do you feel about Marilyn Monroe?”

He shrugged. “I’ve never actually watched one of her movies,” he admitted. 

“Well, that is going to change tonight.” 

And Isak couldn’t help the grin that spread on his face as he watched an animated Even enthusiastically fill him in on why this was one of the most important movies he’d ever watched. 

* * *

Isak wasn’t sure exactly when he’d drifted off. It was something about the cushions that surrounded him, the warmth of the wine, and the fulfilling sensation that poured into him as Even commentated excitedly along with this old black and white movie. 

From what he remembered it had been funny, fast paced and quick witted. The last bit he remembered was a joke about water polo being a dangerous sport because the guy had two ponies drown under him. The guy was Tony Curtis—Isak had been informed—and Even had laughed at the joke like it was the first time he’d heard it. Isak thought it might have been the laughter that lulled him to sleep. It was like a hug.

He’d been reluctant to move at all when he’d woken. Isak had fallen asleep curled on his side, and Even was now mirroring him—deep in his own slumber. 

It was dark and quiet. Peaceful almost, in fact, if it weren’t for the worries that kept tugging at his mind. Isak didn’t want to move, or breathe too heavily just incase he disturbed Even. Despite being tired, Isak couldn’t help but squint in the dark, trying to make out Even’s features in the dark. And the longer he’d lain there, the louder Even’s breathing had seemed to get— not like snoring, just impossible to ignore and resist watch his lips move with  the air that passed the. Something was taunting him in the most curious way.

So, Isak had slipped from the bed and crept back to his own room. It was lonelier now, and cold, which was a new feeling. All he usually felt when he got to his own bed at night was relief at being on his own. 

But he found a similar issue to what he’d experienced in Even’s room. His mind just wasn’t quiet; it was a buzz of feelings that were moving too fast for him to make out.

Eventually, as he focussed on one breath after the other, sleep came.

* * *

_ The grass was purple. It spread in every direction and Isak rolled onto his back to find stars staring back down at him. The seemed to spin and zoom, in and out of focus. _

_ “It’s the wine,” Even said. He was next to Isak. Of course he was. Where else would he be? He was all in white. _

_ “I need more,” Isak said, reaching for the wine that Even held. It was in a vase, because that’s what they drank wine from.  _

_ “No,” Even laughed, pulling the vase from his grip. But it cracked open, the flowers on the print blooming suddenly, filling the space with petals unfurling. But blood red wine covered Even. He was still laughing but Isak was frozen with fear. This was bad. He knew it was worse bad. _

_ “Take it off,” he insisted, pulling at the soaked and ruined shirt. _

_ “It’s OK,” Even said, but the calm only raged against Isak’s fear. _

_ “You have to take it off,” he pled.  _

_ He blinked.  _

_ Even was naked. And that made sense because Isak had told him to take the clothes off, but now he was staring at Isak, expectantly. Like Isak knew what he was doing.  _

_ What was he doing? _

_ Urgency and terror bubbled inside of him, like they were running out of time. Something was out there in the dark. He needed to do it now.  _

_ Do what? _

_ Isak lurched forward, landing on Even. There was softness, there was warmth. “You need to try and kiss,” he said desperately. Hands were on his face and all Isak could feel was heat, he could taste wine, lips devoured his. There was firmness and the cool of his tongue. _

_ His body slid over Even’s. They were naked, and there was just their bodies and the stars. It was hot, too hot—Isak was losing touch, he was losing control.  _

_ But Even’s hands were on him, everywhere. He needed control but those palms slid over his skin, and that tongue was in his mouth and he couldn’t feel anything but Even and purple.  _

_ Even and purple.  _

_ Even and the flowers.  _

_ Even and blood red wine. _

_ He needed more. He needed to feel. He needed Even. _

_ “I’ve come home now,” Even said. He was on top of Isak. His body rolled against Isak like a wave crashing down on the shore. Even was everywhere, seeping into every crack and void. _

_ Isak let go. _

* * *

Isak gasped, his eyes shooting open in the dark.

_ “Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck.” _

He’d never woken up swearing before, but there was a first time for everything. He had, however, had a wet dream before and that was exactly what this was.

He rolled onto his side, futilely gripping at his cock, but he could already feel the warmth leaking through his sweatpants. How the fuck was he having a wet dream?  _ Fuck.  _ He couldn’t remember how long it had been since he’d last time he’d had one. Years at the least.

The only saving grace was that he’d decided to get into his own bed; if this had happened next to Even, Isak would have had to flee in the night. 

He lay motionless for a long moment, panting until his breathing returned to normal. In a way, he had less to think about now, thanks to his wonderful fucking brain. He now knew what the confusion was.

He liked Even. He  _ liked  _ Even. He was attracted to Even. He wanted to be naked with Even.

And with that one problem solved, a thousand more came pouring back through that open door that was now impossible to close. What the fuck was he supposed to do? They lived together. This was beyond fucked. Why did this have to happen now? Why did he have to find this one guy attractive, this one guy that would make everything awkward if Even found out, that would make this perfect situation unlivable.

“Fuck,” he said one last time to the ceiling as he pushed off his trousers and underwear. Wiping himself off on them, he threw the spoiled clothes in the general direction of his wash basket. He could sort that in the morning. 

Burying his naked ass deep in the covers, he pulled a pillow over his head. One single and painful question flashed in his mind before he buried it entirely in self doubt.

_ Could someone like Even remotely be interested in someone like him? _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If I don't thank you enough, thank you for reading <3
> 
> Also... ILY Wendy <3


	5. Chapter Four

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Are you calling me a liar?”
> 
> “Straight up,” Isak affirmed, aiming a smug look at Even.
> 
> And then he laughed; it was warm and enveloped Isak entirely, like he was in the tub and Even was the water. He'd missed this warmth and comfort. He'd missed Even. How was he going to stay sane living with him?
> 
> “OK, you got me,” he admitted.
> 
> “Well,” Isak asked after a pause. “Are you gonna tell me?”
> 
> Even stared at him a long moment, and Isak forced himself to breathe because that intense gaze seemed to peel back his layers so easily. He was vulnerable to Even and he had to remind himself to be scared of that feeling instead of submit to it.
> 
> “I'll show you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's more! 
> 
> Also, thank you so much for the comments so far. I'm gonna reply to them all ASAP it's just a lil overwhelming cos y'all are so nice *weeps* 
> 
> Also-also, like... This chapter has one of my favourite scenes I've written.. ever. 
> 
> So I hope you enjoy!
> 
> Love, Becs

##  Chapter Four

###  Even

When Even woke up, he got the distinct impression that something was missing. Rolling onto his side, his nose pushed into the pillow. It was different; it smelled like Isak, and Even found himself smiling.

Opening his eyes, he scanned his room. The bottle of wine, a red stained glass with two sets of lip prints, the empty McDonalds bags, his socks that he would never  _ not  _ toe off in his sleep… all signs that the night before did in fact happen. Isak was just very clearly not present.

Flopping onto his back, Even let out a sigh. It had been nice, he’d felt relaxed and at ease. It was the first time anyone had been in his space like that, sharing his interests. He thought Isak had enjoyed it too. Was this what having a friend was like? He had friends—of course—but not ones he let in, because he didn’t let anyone in. Living with someone though, it was bound to happen. Wasn’t it?

It was an alien form of relief to unravel himself, and talk excitedly about why a story about two male musicians—running away dressed as women to disguise themselves in an all woman band whilst on the run from gangsters—had made such a big impact on him. Another memory fragment from safety with his grandma; Even was yet to meet a Marilyn fan as enthusiastic as she’d been. 

Warmth had filled him to hear Isak laughing with him, or at him—and he didn’t mean in a cruel way. It was similar to the way Even would find amusement in Isak being himself, there was no teasing just enjoying how someone naturally just  _ was _ . 

Enjoying each other.

It was equally nice to see Isak relaxing, and maybe Eskild had been right about it being out of character for him. But Even wasn’t doing anything special, Isak was probably just ready to move on from it all. 

Another thing Even had discovered, much to his delight, was just how stubborn Isak was, even in his sleep; Even had tried to cover him with the blankets several times before he gave up. Isak just kicked them off.

Stretching, Even decided it was probably past time that he was up. Glancing at his phone, he frowned. It was 09:13. He never usually slept this long, and there’d been no tormenting dreams to speak of. No dark monsters of the past trying to shake him out of his self possession and security. Maybe it was Isak that had some magic powers, not himself, like Eskild had said. 

He began to ponder a ridiculous notion of asking Isak to keep sharing his bed to see if the hypothesis held truth. I mean, it was scientific method, right? Isak would be happy to  _ science _ together, surely.

Sitting up, Even laughed softly as he scrubbed at his face. That would be a fairly weird thing to ask of someone. Going from stoically solitary to wanting baby bird to encroach on his space? Maybe Isak wasn’t the only one changing.

Grabbing the rubbish and empty bottle, Even stood to silently consider the wine glass they’d shared. Something in him wanted to leave it there just a little while longer. So, raking his fingers through his hair, he decided he would. 

Even strode purposefully to the kitchen while wondering if Isak was already up. The sound of the shower running as he passed the bathroom let him know that was the case.

Ditching the rubbish, Even got to work making breakfast. He’d never realised how fulfilling it would be for someone to appreciate his cooking. He’d forgotten how much he’d craved the approval and attention of his mum, even in the simple act of cooking. But that had never happened, and that desire for acknowledgment or to appease someone had been buried deep within. Even had never sincerely tried to appease someone since. What Romeo did didn’t count; that wasn’t him, it wasn’t genuine.

Today he would see how Isak liked omelette. Admittedly it wasn’t groundbreaking but Even thought it was pretty enjoyable, hopefully Isak would agree. And it was going fine until he managed to overenthusiastically open the milk, sloshing some down his t-shirt.

“ _ Fuck _ ,” he hissed softly under his breath. Still, it was no big deal. Peeling it off, Even dried off his stomach before just flinging the garment over his shoulder. He’d put it in the washing when Isak was done in the bathroom.

Isak managed to time it perfectly. The pan was under the grill, browning off the top of the omelette, when he walked into the kitchen. But his reaction wasn’t what Even had expected, especially after last night.

He stepped into the room, eyes widened in horror at finding Even there, before erratically  looking anywhere in the room except at Even. He took a step backwards, as if to retreat, before changing his mind and seemingly freezing on the spot. He reminded Even of a vinyl record that had become stuck. Isak was panicking and Even couldn’t see what had happened to cause such a reaction.

“Morning,” he offered, but it sounded more like a question—which it probably was.

“Hi,” Isak replied curtly, staring down at his own stomach as he smoothed his jumper flat. “I thought you’d be out already, you usually don’t hang around much.”

Even worked his mouth, trying to find a neutral response that would not be tainted by the unusual feeling of disappointment that was curdling in his stomach.  Isak didn’t want to spend time with him? “Yeah, I have things to do, I just thought you might want to do breakfast?”

Isak did another back and forth shuffle at the threshold before taking a handful of steps towards the table and plonking himself down in a chair. Now he was studying his fingernails as both hands were pushed to the tabletop, fingers splayed. Even could almost hear him counting to ten and back to zero in his head. What was making him freak out so much? What had Even done?

He would figure it out, Even decided, whilst cutting the omelette in two and sliding the halves onto separate plates: one plain white and Isak’s orange monstrosity. 

When he reached the table, he paused before placing them down. Isak was still intrigued by making sure he really did have all his fingers intact, and Even decided to make things a little interesting. It was Isak who’d suggested they share a glass yesterday, after all. So, he put the orange plate on his own setting and the white one in front of Isak, and said nothing more about it.

Even shot a look at Isak as he sat down, finding him frowning in confusion at his plate that wasn’t in front of him.

“That’s my plate,” he stated.

Even shrugged. “Is it?” he asked before cutting a slice of omelette and popping it into his mouth. Isak’s eyes had followed the fork, blinking away in panic at the last moment.

“ _ Yes _ ,” he impressed, fiddling with his fork. “You know it’s my plate, and this is yours.” Isak poked at the plate in front of him, like Even wouldn’t know what he was talking about. He was flustered, bordering on irritated, but Even knew it had nothing to do with the plates.

“I figured if we can share a glass, plates are no big deal.” His own voice was calm, ignoring whatever turmoil was going on in Isak this morning. It wasn’t like him to provoke, and he was sure this wasn’t what he was doing, but he wasn’t going to back track or let Isak do it either. They’d had fun last night, there was no reason things should be weird.

“Fine,” Isak said with that little tilt of the chin he did, as he stabbed at a bit food. “But could you at least wear some fucking clothes at the table?”

Even looked down, remembering the shirt on his shoulder and the fact he was bare chested. Why would that be such a big deal? 

“Sorry,” he offered genuinely. He had no idea what would make Isak tick further than what he’d confided so far. Maybe he  _ was _ prudish? Although Even would imagine that being a difficult feat living with Eskild. Isak was always layered in jumpers and hoodies though, as if the emotional defensive walls he’d erected weren’t security enough. But this was easy enough to fix, if this was what was keeping Isak on edge.

Standing from the table, Even made a quick path to the bathroom, chucking his t-shirt in the washing machine and grabbing a fresh one from the laundered basket that sat on top, where the clothes waited to be put away.

Pulling it over his head, Even entered the kitchen again, arms held out on either side in a silent  _ tah-dah.  _ But Isak barely glanced up and was still pushing the same piece of food around the plate.

“Better? Even asked as he sat again.

Isak shrugged. “I don’t know—sure,” he grumbled.

_ What the fuck was up with him? _

“You OK, Isak?” he asked, concern now marring his voice.

Sighing, Isak dropped his fork, not having taken a bite yet. “I’m fine.” Even could hear the effort he was putting into tempering his voice. “I just… I’m tired.”

That was something he was hearing or saying a lot lately. And it was doubly strange, considering how well Even had slept. Evidently Isak hadn’t been so comfortable sharing his bed. And there was  _ that _ question off limits now, not that Even had seriously considered asking him to share his bed again—not really. Maybe joked about it, but now…

“Bad dreams?” It could have been that and judging by the way Isak tensed at the question, perhaps he was onto something. Maybe that’s what woke Isak, and why he went back to his own bed.

“Something like that.”

“You should have woken me, we could’ve smoked or something.”

But Isak was already shaking his head before Even had finished speaking. “There was nothing you could do,” he said firmly, eyes skittering over the table top. “I need water,” he announced, sliding in an awkward fashion from his chair and tugging his hoodie down before striding towards the sink.

Even was left to mull over the statement as Isak ran the water, and listened to the glass filling, then being chugged down like Isak had been stranded in the desert for a month. 

Why couldn’t he have done something? Even had helped him get to sleep before, he thought they’d had some unique connection there.

“Maybe it was the wine,” Even said over his shoulder as Isak was refilling his glass.

Isak just shrugged his shoulders again. “Maybe.”

“It took you out pretty fast, and you aren’t used to drinking, are you?” Isak shook his head, but Even could see he wasn’t really buying the offered excuse for his terrible mood. 

So that meant Isak knew what was wrong but didn't want to talk about it. Even decided to change tack. “I was hoping that you were gonna relax enough to do some kissing experimentation, but you just passed out.”  

And he knew immediately he’d fucked up. 

Isak choked on his water before freezing, and Even clocked the exact moment something seemed to explode inside of him. He cast a furious glare at Even before spitting out one word. “ _ What _ ?”

Holding both of his hands up, Even tried in vain to back track. “It was a joke, I’m kidding. I’ll shut up.” And he would shut up but he was instantly confused; Eskild would pull this kind of shit all the time and not get a reaction one tenth the severity of the one Even was just served.

He  _ knew _ he’d fucked up but had no clue as to why. 

And Even also didn't realise the stakes were so high. He'd apparently gotten used to a feeling of carpet beneath his feet already, and not fully had the chance to appreciate the warmth and comfort on his soles before it was yanked from under him. Even felt disoriented, and  _ this _ was exactly why he didn’t let people in.

Isak was still standing by the sink, shaking his head. “I forgot I have a thing with Sana, I have to go. We’ll do breakfast tomorrow, or something.” The words were muttered non-committally as Isak strode for the door, completely focussed on exiting the room and being as far from Even as he could in all probability.

The door banged shut and Even was left alone. Alone and staring at a plate full of food he’d put his focus and attention on nurturing that was completely untouched. This was déjà vu. He’d bared himself and been shunned, all in the space of a few short hours. 

_ Why did this hurt? It shouldn't hurt so much. _

Tentatively Even measured up his desire to push this connection against the fear of it snapping and recoiling, lashing at him and leaving scars. 

He could foresee the pain, but equally he didn’t want to give up. There was just something different about Isak, something he couldn’t explain.

* * *

Breakfast the next day hadn’t happened, nor the day after that. Isak had made himself conspicuously absent from the apartment for almost an entire week. 

Fleeting glimpses of Isak in the hall, or quickly crossing the living space, were all Even had. When he came back in the evenings, Even looked eagerly to the balcony in hopes that Isak might be out there. But there was only darkness, it was overcast too; even the stars decided not to shine in the bleak. Even wasn’t sure if Isak was actually sleeping in the apartment, their meetings being so infrequent.

Some of those fleeting moments were disconcerting. It seemed Isak had followed up on Even’s advice by making the use of the gym. If Even timed it right—not that he was trying to place himself in Isak’s path in any way—at around eight in the evening, Isak would come bustling into the apartment with a sweat soaked shirt or vest clinging to his body.

The first time it had happened that week—it may have been Sunday but Even had lost track of the days that had passed—he hadn’t known where to look. Which was absurd because he’d seen plenty of men and women less clothed than Isak was in his shorts and whatever flimsy excuse for clothes these vests were. But he’d found himself staring at the work surface trying to deny himself the urge to gape.

Maybe it was because Isak was so innocent, in so many ways, it seemed improper for him to be so undressed where  _ actual _ people could see him. And Even marked his own desire to stare down as simple curiosity, which obviously felt wrong because they lived together. But, whatever the fuck was going on, Even was sure that baby bird was not the right nickname for Isak anymore.

Buried in all the layers he usually wore, Even had completely neglected the fact that Isak had some shoulders on him, and he had muscles… like, muscles on his arms. Biceps—or whatever—Isak had them. And he  _ was _ —there was no other way to put it—aesthetically pleasing. 

This all made Even feel like a lecherous fucker because this was his housemate. Despite it probably being natural for people to recognise these things in the people they lived with, it felt wrong for Even to consider it. Especially because Isak seemed so opposed to Even’s light jokes about kissing. He must be repelled by any kind of physical intimacy, not that that notion had anything to do with Even’s observations…

The point was: if Isak had been able to request Even wear clothes at the table,  _ surely _ it should be OK for Even to ask that Isak make sure he’d showered and put a jumper on before he came back upstairs from working out. 

He’d almost brought himself to the point of asking until yesterday, when Isak had stood silently next to him at the sink, refilling his water bottle. And—like it was nothing—he'd used the bottom of his shirt to wipe the sweat from his face, showing all the fucking world his stomach and therefore his surprisingly well toned abs.

All the world being Even and the kettle, but that wasn't the point. 

Bizarrely enough, it was this moment that he’d found that he  _ could _ live with these brazen displays of semi-nakedness. He would just have to grin and bear the inappropriateness of it all, because he didn’t want to embarrass Isak. That was it. That was the  _ only _ reason.

“Is ten OK?”

Even blinked. He was in the coffee shop. He was with Eskild. What were they talking about?

“Sorry, what?” Even asked, focussing on Eskild, who looked past the point of patience now.

“We’ll be at yours by ten tomorrow—in the morning, if that suits you.” he sighed, placing the pen and notepad on the table.

Even nodded eagerly. “Sure, that’s fine. Sorry I’m just—”

“Tired?” Eskild offered, raising a disbelieving eyebrow.

Apparently, this was still a common excuse repeated a lot this week. “Yeah, that.”

Eskild continued to stare at him for a long moment silently deliberating whether to press. In true Eskild fashion, he gave in to his urges. “OK, what the fuck is wrong?”

Opening his mouth, Even tried on a shocked expression, as if he was surprised at the question. “ _ Nothing _ . I’m fine, everything is fine.”

He cocked his head to one side, the look aimed at him was thoroughly dubious. “Don’t fucking bullshit me. You’re as useful as a window at hiding things.”

Even sighed. He supposed asking Eskild wouldn’t be the worst idea ever, he’d lived with Isak after all. Perhaps he knew where Even had fucked up. “I think I pissed off Isak.”

“Well, that’s entirely possible. What happened?” he asked, leaning towards Even.

Chewing his lip, Even considered where to start. “So, you know we hung out last week?”

Eskild nodded eagerly, keen for the point to be reached. “I remember,” he said, there was still a lilt of amusement in his voice despite his impatience to be on with it. “Didn’t go well?”

“No it was fine, we had fun. Laughing and eating and whatever. It was good— _ I _ thought it was good.”

“OK, so what happened?”

“That’s it, I don't know. We crashed in my room, I woke up and he was gone and then ever since he’s been…  _ frosty _ . He’s not talking to me.” Even shrugged. It was unbelievable how much he missed Isak, considering they’d only been connected for such a short space of time.

Eskild had frozen on the spot, his mouth ajar and Even could imagine he had about five separate questions to ask at once. “You fell asleep in the same bed?”

Why was he focusing on that? “Yeah, so what? I bet you guys were crashing in each other’s room all the time…” he trailed off as Eskild began to shake his head. “Well, so what?” he asked again, suddenly feeling defensive. It was no big deal. 

Eskild snorted, waving a hand dismissively at Even’s frown, and obviously seeing something very clearly that Even did not. “And you  _ slept together _ and now Isak is acting weird?”

“Pretty much.”

The snort turned into a laugh, and Even found himself bristling at how amusing Eskild found the situation. “And you can’t see what’s up?”

“No, it doesn’t make any sense. If you know what's up with him you have to tell me. I don't want to upset him. He’s …  _ sensitive _ , you know that.” Even pushed his case, trying not to lose his own patience with his friend. Luckily Eskild was regaining his composure.

“OK. I’m sorry, it’s not funny. But it’s nothing to worry about. Like you said last week, I’m not gonna speak for him; if he wants you to know, he’ll speak to you.”

It was Even’s turn to stare at Eskild in disbelief. “So, you’re just  _ not _ gonna tell me?”

He rolled his eyes. “No, this is your mess. You’ll have to figure it out yourself.” And he shook his head, to all the world like he was both exasperated and amused that he needed to explain this much to a grown adult. Even couldn’t help but feel offended… and slightly fucking dumb. What was it he was missing that Eskild could see?

“But I haven’t done anything, I don’t think.” Even had been over the scenario, again and again, to see where he'd gone wrong. The only thing that was concrete was the fact that Isak wasn’t fake, there was nothing phoney about the way he reacted and the things he said. There was no way he would pretend to be cool one day and just switch up the next. So, something  _ must _ have happened.

“Just be easy. I’m sure it will sort itself out,” Eskild added, patting Even’s hand in what would have been patronising if Even hadn’t been caught up recanting the situation for the umpteeth time. “Have you got plans to spend any time together?”

He shook his head remorsefully, even the text he'd sent asking if Isak had plans tonight had been ignored. “No, he’s been stone walling me. I was hoping he’d be free later and we’d watch Shrek or something…”

Eskild was back to laughing again. “ _ Shrek _ ?”

“It’s his favorite film,” Even stated, perplexed that this wasn't just common knowledge. It was hardly cryptic information. Had anyone even made an effort to know Isak at all? And, despite the radio silence from his housemate, that protective feeling reared its head again.

“It is?” Eskild asked incredulously. Even nodded. “I never knew that,” he murmured to himself before a small, soft smile curved his lips. “You want to spend time with him?” he asked, all seriousness and gaze intent upon Even.

“Of course. He’s my friend—I  _ think _ ,” he admitted, palms sweaty at revealing that much of a fondness for someone.

“ _ Friend _ ,” Eskild repeated quietly to himself, that wry humor pin pricking the sobriety. Was it that absurd that Even could consider people friends? Or was it something else? But he re-focussed on the matter at hand and began to nod, matter of factly. “I propose, in this instance, you organise something presumptuously.”

Even frowned at him. That didn’t sound like it would work with Isak, it sounded like the exact thing that would piss him off. “I don’t think that would work.”

“Isak knows his mind enough to be able to tell you a firm no, but if he's hesitant for whatever reason—holding back or whatever—then he should be persuaded with a nudge. Either way, you’ll figure out if he hates you,  _ or _ just… well, something else.” Eskild made a gesture with his hands like it was as simple as that, whilst barely repressing a grin. 

Nodding, Even found himself agreeing. Nothing ventured nothing gained. But what was he going to plan? “I’ll give it a go.”

“Good,” Eskild said, allowing himself that grin now. “Right, now that I have helped you re-establish domestic bliss, shall we continue with actual work?”

“That’s what we’re here for.” Even tried hard to remember the plans they’d been making, without tangents splitting off that kept spiralling into ideas of what he and Isak could do to make sure they stayed friendly. But it turned out to be impossible.

The drinks company that had been decided upon to be their supplier was situated outside of Oslo, and the road to the distribution factory and brewery ran next to a ferry route that took passengers out to one of the islands. Did Isak like ferries? Or islands? That might be something they could do… 

And the idea had been proposed to offer a cafe area at the club—a chill down room—where people could chat without loud music impeding their conversation. They would have a barista, real coffee and hot drinks… did Isak like hot chocolate? Would he take it with cream? Was he one of those heathens that put marshmallows in it? He was a fan of gherkins, there was nothing Even wouldn't put past him knowing that. 

“So, you are definitely gonna be there tomorrow night?”

Even blinked, surprised at having drifted and at wearing a too wide smile. What were they talking about? He raced to catch up just as Eskild began to roll his eyes. 

“I wouldn’t miss it, I think Magnus will look stunning in neon. Let’s just hope he remembers to wear actual clothes, though. You did mention that it’s neon  _ plus _ clothes, right?”

Eskild smirked. “Maybe.”

Just as Eskild was picking up his notebook again, continuing with their planning, Even’s phone vibrated. He slid it eagerly from his pocket, hoping—against odds—that it would be Isak, only to let out a disappointed sigh when he saw the display. It was a message on his business line.

“Problems?” Eskild asked, while chewing the end of his pen and reading over the notes they’d made so far.

“No. Just a new client I've been putting off,” Even admitted, stuffing his phone back into his pocket without opening the message. He'd answer later.

Eskild was drumming the end of the pen against the page, his attention still divided. They'd been trying to figure out exactly how much would be needed outright to open for the first three months. Now that they had a location, and therefore a rent ballpoint figure to work with, it was easier to make estimates.

“Putting off? You're not keen?” he mused, before writing down a scraggly note that only Eskild would be able to decipher. The pen was now twirling in his fingers and the tapping began again.

Even shrugged. “There's nothing wrong with him. I just don't feel like it.”

The drumming stopped. Eskild stayed motionless except his eyes, which were now boring holes into Even’s skull. 

“ _ What _ ?” he asked, shrinking back in his chair almost defensively. Why was Eskild so surprised? “I'm entitled to not feel like taking on new clients.”

“But that just isn't your working ethics. You're all for new avenues and possible ways to keep your income flowing,” Eskild stated, his face and his voice unreadable.

“We all change, Eskild,” he pointed out. “Plus I have a lot on, this isn't the only thing I'm juggling. I'm not trying to bite off more than I can chew.” He sighed with exasperation as a smirk broke Eskild’s placid features.

“There were so many  _ double entendres _ rammed in there I was a little overwhelmed,” he snickered, shoving the pen behind his ear.

“Just spit it out,” Even said, speaking before his brain filtered the words. He cringed as Eskild’s laughter was renewed.

“A gentleman never spits. But—if we can move past your immaturity and refocus on the point—change is usually spurred by certain events. Why do you think you're changing now?” And he sat back in his chair, eyebrows arched like he was a psychiatrist. And just like a damn psychiatrist, he probably thought he knew the answer but felt no compulsion, in this one instance, to tell Even exactly what he thought the catalyst was. Why was he holding back so much?

Even sputtered, trying to figure it out. “Like I said, I have other things going on.”

“That's been for a while though, correct?”

“So? Sometimes it takes a while for things to work themselves out.” This sudden disinterest in clients did seem unrelated, he had to admit, because with  _ that _ work he could arrange it around himself. Therefore, he never had to be overworked; he had total control.

“True,” Eskild said. Even knew he wasn't convinced, but he didn't push it any further. “I'm sure you'll work it out, I have faith in you,” he added with a sweet smile. It was so sweet, Even thought he might actually be gloating but, like with everything else they had talked about, he couldn’t figure out what Eskild felt so smug about.

“Well, that makes me feel so much better,” Even replied, words drenched in sarcasm. 

“I know,” Eskild grinned, ignoring Even’s tone. “Now, if we’re done with your therapy—which I’m seriously considering charge you for—can we talk business?”

“Is it worth going over much? I mean we’ll only be repeating it again with Mags tomorrow.” It was unlike Even to be so unenthusiastic when it came to business, especially this branch, which he was still very excited about. This week had just been unreasonably low. 

Eskild let out a loud sigh, flinging his notebook down on the table in a final show of defeat. “I guess not.”

“Why couldn’t he come today?” Even asked, he knew he’d been told but information wasn’t sticking too well to his brain. Eskild gave him a long look that said he agreed with that unspoken notion entirely. 

“Flatpack furniture; he’s helping Vilde… unflatpack it? Whatever it is they're doing, it’s against my religion. So, I left him to it. And then they have the whole house to unflatpack each other, or whatever…” he trailed off, wrinkling his nose at the thought. There must be certain downsides to living with a couple as a professional singleton, like Eskild. Even could almost feel sorry for him if he wasn’t sure this was all very fairly earned karma. 

“Sounds… fun? Doesn't the company put it together for you?”

Eskild shot him a flat stare. “Not everyone can afford the full service,” he said with a smirk. “Some of us have to  _ do it yourself _ , if you know what I mean.”

“Surely not you.” Even hit right back.

“Never,” he agreed, his smirk fading as he visibly followed a tangent. “But speaking of affordability, we can make the first three months. It’ll be a stretch but it’s possible.” Even didn’t think he would ever stop being surprised at how quickly Eskild slid from banter into seriousness. It was an admirable trait. 

“If we need to add more to the pot—” But Eskild waved his sentence to a premature close.

“No, no. We put in equal parts. On that I’m adamant.”

Even shrugged, they'd spoken before about him putting in more to make the journey slightly easier, but he’d been outvoted by both of his partners. It should be equal, both the winning or the loss if it came, they’d said. And it was logical.  

“OK,” Even sighed. 

“One thing I wanted to ask you, while it’s just us,” Eskild began, before chewing his lower lip thoughtfully. “I like the venue, but this guy… is he trustworthy? In a business sense?”

“Honestly, I don’t know. Businesswise he pays his due before payment is necessary, reliable and predictable. But my business isn’t legal and I don’t think all the other pies he has his fingers in are legal—but I don’t know that for a fact.” Even relaxed back in his chair and picked up the coffee he’d almost forgotten about. It was still warm enough. “We’re gonna have to go off your judgment,” he added with a shrug.

Eskild was thoughtful for a moment and Even wasn’t sure if there was unease there or not but it was gone in a heartbeat, replaced with his usual smile. 

“I think we’re doing this.”

###  Isak

Sana frowned at him when she opened the front door, and there was clattering and banging coming from somewhere inside the house.

“Again, Isak? This is… the third day in a row and almost every day this week.” 

He shrugged and gave her his best grin. “You said you weren’t doing anything after uni, so…”

Rolling her eyes, she stood back giving him space to move past her and into the house. “Isak, I love having you, but distance makes the heart grow fonder.” She muttered closing the door behind him. “And not doing anything doesn’t necessarily mean there’s nothing going on.” As if to punctuate her statement, there was a loud bang that sounded from the kitchen. Sana closed her eyes like she was trying to perform an instantly calming meditation trick, reaching for her inner strength. When her eyes fluttered open, she let out a small and frustrated huff that Isak was sure had nothing to do with him.

“I can go—” he began. And he could, it was easy for him to go grab a bike and ride it around for another few hours. He’d been doing that this week when he couldn’t sleep, or no one was free and Isak hadn’t wanted to be in the apartment.  

But she was shaking her head, before sticking her arm out in the direction of the living room, to show him the way in case he'd forgotten since yesterday. “In there. You might actually keep me sane.” She paused, realising her words and letting out a small laugh of disbelief. “As ridiculous as that sounds.”

“Hey,” Isak yelped indignantly. “I’m probably the sanest person you know.” 

He took the lead, wandering into the room that was exactly what you would imagine a family home  _ should _ be like. Faded decoration but well looked after, photo frames sprinkled liberally, mismatched and aged ornaments that probably all had their own curious backstory, and above all a calm and relaxing atmosphere. Isak had become quite fond of the incense that seemed to be constantly lit on one or the other levels of the sprawling house. It was well loved and lived in; sometimes he had the feeling that if he stood here, with no one else in the house, he would still hear the echoes of laughter that had bounced from wall to wall over countless years, too genuine to fade into silence. 

“That would mean I’m in more trouble than I think I am,” she mused to herself while he snorted a laugh and plonked himself down on the sofa. Sana stayed standing, fidgeting from one foot to the other, as if unsure where she should be, or where she  _ wanted _ to be.

“Do you want tea?” She asked apprehensively. Isak could tell she wanted the answer to be no, despite her manners willing her to ask the question—regardless of how she felt. 

“I’m good,” he replied with a smile.

She sighed in relief before sinking down next to him. “Good,” she said, meaning every single letter of the word. She opened her mouth to probably elaborate, if Isak knew her—which he did—but was interrupted by a head darting around the corner of the living room.

“ _ Isak _ !” Yousef exclaimed, visibly flustered and red in the face. 

“Hey,” Isak half rose from the sofa before Yousef grabbed his hand and pulled him into a half standing—awkward but well meaning—hug.

“I thought I heard the door,” he said, releasing Isak and allowing him to fall back into the cushions. He perched on the arm of the sofa, folding his arms. 

“Yeah, I just thought I’d drop by and study a little.” Isak glanced between Sana and Yousef, noting the tension in the room. “So, what were you guys up to?”

Sana sat back in her seat and firmed her jaw, evidently leaving the talking to Yousef. She had obviously had her fill of the situation, whatever it was.

“I’m cooking dinner for the family,” Yousef offered with a brave smile.

Isak made a silent  _ ah  _ as the situation dawned on him. “Like, for everyone?”

He was nodding, and Sana tutted from over Isak’s shoulder. 

“It’s not even for tonight, it’s tomorrow. I still don’t see why you have to do all this—”

“Preparation is key, my love.” Yousef cut in smoothly, but Isak could hear the nerves in his voice. And if he were to guess, Sana was probably overdosing in his anxiety through her own empathy for him. 

She just shook her head. “Using my own wisdom against me.”

Yousef shot her a grin. “You are the wisest person I know, it would be stupid of me to ignore your advice.”

“Anyway,” she cut in, Isak could see her fighting with herself not to smile at the blatant flattery. Yousef was always good at taking the edge of her sharpness, they made the perfectly mixed cocktail. “You should get on with that preparation, it won’t do itself.” And she held a firm stance in that way unique to Sana that said—without words and just the angle of her chin and the line of her shoulders—that she expected to be complied with because it was simple sense. But in short, she was dismissing him.

He just smiled fondly at her, cocking his head to one side. “Check on me?” he asked.

She snorted softly. “Of course, I have to make sure you’re using the sharp knives correctly. Wouldn’t want you to hurt yourself.”

He blew her an air kiss before standing. “If I did that I don’t think I would live it down.”

“You’re right there,” she shot back, but her cheeks flushed—even an air kiss was extreme PDA for her. “You’d be paying for any dry cleaning in the car if you bled all over it on the way to the hospital.” But Yousef laughed at the overly dramatic—almost grumpy—response from Sana. It showed she cared in the strange way she showed her affection. 

“You need a hand?” Isak asked. Any practical help he might give could, firstly, diffuse the tension between them and, secondly, take his mind off the thoughts that constantly circled in his mind like a whirlwind. 

Yousef just shook his head and pointed to earbuds that were hanging out of the neck of his shirt. “I’m good, I just need to focus and get the marinade right.”

Isak nodded as if he knew what that meant, the closest thing to marinade he used was tomato ketchup. “Just shout if you change your mind.” 

Yousef gave him a grin and a deferring nod to Sana, before darting back into the kitchen. It might look like she was in charge, but Isak had witnessed rare moments where Sana would become overwhelmed, and the only thing that calmed her down was his touch and a few hushed words. Was that like when Even had touched him? It had felt warm and soothing, his anxiety had leached away. 

No, he wasn't going to think about Even.

“So, what do you want to study?” Isak announced, unzipping his bag. When Sana didn’t respond he looked to her to find a reserved but knowing gaze observing him.

“We will study when you tell me why exactly you are suddenly allergic to your apartment.” She eased back, leaning against the arm rest and studied him, patiently waiting for him to indulge her.

Isak snorted. “I’m not allergic to anything,” he replied. “I just want to study.”

She tilted her head in that annoyingly knowing way. “So, when I offered to come by Monday and you opted for here instead? Isak, you don’t really leave the house unless it’s for lectures and yet.. here you are.” She threw a hand gesture in his general direction. “Six days out of seven. I have waited and waited for you to tell me what the hell is going on but—between you and Yousef—I’m out of patience.  _ Spill _ .”

He let his shoulders drop, rolling his eyes heaven bound as he sighed, before slumping back. “It’s just weird living with someone.”

A silence stretched out and he avoided looking at what he assumed was an increasingly impatient expression she no doubt wore. “ _ Because… _ ?” she offered. “I thought you said he was barely there.”

“He’s not, or he wasn’t.” Isak had noticed Even was around more in the evenings, ignoring whatever messages came through on his phone, whatever  _ that _ meant. He’d tried not to think about it to be honest. “But he’s there more, and it’s awkward.”

“Why? Did you guys spend any time together?”

“We did.”

“And you didn’t get on?”

Isak opened his mouth before closing it again. He was about to lie and say they didn’t, they were polar opposites and Even was annoying as holy fuck, who had a collection of the worst and most annoying habit and he smelled really bad. But he couldn’t bring himself to do it. 

Even hadn’t actually done anything wrong, it was Isak that was betraying himself and possibly fucking up what could have been a great friendship. It hadn’t slipped his notice how confused Even had been this week and he couldn’t blame him, Isak was acting more socially inept than normal. He just couldn't cope with this.

“We get on,” he admitted quietly. 

Isak could practically hear Sana’s brain trying to work this problem out. “I don’t understand then, why don’t you want to be there? If he’s hanging out there more than he was, that means he likes you too, right?”

All he could do was nod his head. He’d gone from not feeling anything for so long to being completely overwhelmed by this anxiety at actually feeling. Feeling for someone so physically close to him. Someone he couldn’t escape from because Isak  _ had _ to sleep somewhere. 

And that was why he was at the gym, cycling, studying or doing anything to avoid being close to him. Both the emotions and the now embarrassingly frequent hard-ons were mortifying. He'd thought his libido had run away when his dignity had been thoroughly ruined, but apparently it’d just been in hibernation. And it wasn't lessening at all by jerking off—Isak had been trying that all week, too. It was like all the build up from six months of little to no release all wanted out, like, at once. 

He wanted to say more, maybe elaborate or tell the truth, but his throat was beginning to close. That hard lump sitting there, making it hard to swallow and breathe, let alone speak. 

Sana let slip the softest gasp when things began to align, so dainty he almost didn’t hear it. “Did something happen between you?” Her voice was almost as silent as the gasp had been, and he privately blessed her for her indiscretion. Not that anyone was close enough to hear, but the quieter the revelation was made, the easier he could break it to the world how much he'd fucked up.

“No—no,” he managed to croak, before clearing his throat. He felt her shift closer to him, until her shoulder brushed against his. He was leaning forward, head in his hands and staring at the swirling pattern in the carpet.

“ _ Isak _ .” Her tone was motherly almost, but he didn’t bristle at the concern for once. He needed someone to tell him it wasn’t going to be a complete disaster. “This isn’t the end of the world you know.”

“It feels like it, of all the people I could choose. I can’t get away from him.” He was complaining— _ no _ , whining. He knew it and for once he didn't care. 

“Why would you want to get away from him?” Her palm was running up and down his back. 

He sighed out in frustration. “Because,” he began too aggressively, so he swallowed down his emotions and tried to moderate himself. This wasn’t anyone's fault but his own. “Because it’s pointless. I’m only gonna hurt myself.”

“You don’t know that. Do you know if he’s…  _ interested _ ?” 

“Why would he be?” he asked—a question to her question. This was the very thing his mind had tormented him with. “Look at me, then look at him.” He dared to turn to her, sure that he could handle the emotions dwelling beneath his skin.

Sana was simply frowning in confusion. “I see two nice guys— _ no _ , humans. What am I supposed to see?”

Snorting dismissively, Isak shook his head. “It’s like the prince and the pauper.”

“Isak,” her tone was harder now, like she was reprimanding him. “Your perception of yourself doesn’t mean shit, it's what he sees that determines if he likes you. Sometimes two unlikely people come together. People might think Yousef and I are unlikely, in fact I used to think that. But my point is there’s nothing unlikely about you both. If you both like each other, why not?”

“He’s not going to like me.” He replied petulantly.

He felt her shrug. “You said he’s spending more time at home. Maybe it’s because he wants to spend more time with you… because he likes you.”

Isak was shaking his head in refusal, that couldn’t be it. Or he couldn’t let himself believe it. Because if he was wrong, it would hurt. “He’s just… I don’t know. But not—not like that… he doesn’t like me like that.”

“Can you read minds now, Valtersen?”

“No, but—”

“Well then, don’t be so rude as to presume how someone feels.”

Rude? How was he being rude? He was trying to save himself—and everyone else—from a more than uncomfortable situation. It would be an explosion. “It’s not like I can ask him,” he retorted defensively. 

“Just spend more time with him, see if you can figure it out.” 

His mouth was hanging open as he spluttered for a response. “Spend more time with him?” 

Blinking in confusion, Sana nodded. “Yeah, what did you do the last time?”

“We smoked and talked, and then we had breakfast—we cooked together—and then we watched a movie, had some food and wine, listened to some music. On different nights. I didn’t finish the movie cos I fell asleep…” The sentence stopped and started as Isak stuttered to recount what they’d done together. But when he was done he turned to find Sana staring wide eyed back at him, a crooked smirk on her face. 

“That’s a lot of stuff,” she said softly before frowning. “You fell asleep on him?”

“Twice.” Isak corrected. 

“You never fall asleep around anyone.” 

Isak shrugged uncomfortably. “He makes me feel relaxed.”

Her features softened at his admission and he regretted saying those words immediately. Sana wasn’t a girl that  _ awwed  _ but her expression was doing just that. Her eyes were gleaming like tears were building up.

“Stop it,” he grumbled, folding his arms across his chest and staring straight ahead at the wall and the stripey wallpaper that Sana’s parents had chosen, what must have been an age ago, to decorate the space. 

“I didn’t say anything,” she replied, but even her voice was soft. 

Before Isak had a chance to say that she didn’t need to, and she could save her over zealous and unnecessary excitement for her family dinner tomorrow, Sana’s mum entered the room. 

“Isak,” she exclaimed fondly. “Again?” She was tucking her scarf neatly into the neck of her work uniform, dividing her gaze between the mirror and him. 

Her uniform was a light blue, and there on the breast was a logo he’d seen a hundred times before… and somewhere else that he couldn't quite remember: a dark blue circle with a cross overlain. He frowned at it, trying to figure out where he’d seen it before, but opted instead to file away that information for later. There was already too much he was trying to figure out.

He grinned through the turmoil he felt. “I can’t keep away, Mrs Bakkoush. Have I told you that your cooking is the best I’ve ever tasted?”

She smiled at him. “Only a few times,” she replied. “Maybe you could help Yousef, keep him from doing himself an injury.” She turned to frown at the entrance to the kitchen where more clattering could be heard. “Is he OK?” She whispered to Sana.

Sana shrugged. “As OK as he’s going to be,” she murmured, now staring in the direction of the kitchen too. 

Her mum turned back to them, shaking her head but wearing a bemused expression. “Inshallah,” she said under her breath. “You still OK to drive me to work? I don’t want to disturb your studying.” 

“It’s fine, mum—I said I would,” Sana replied before turning to Isak. “I forgot to mention that, I won't be long though.” Standing, she smoothed down the long t-shirt dress she had over jeans. All black, naturally. 

Her mum ruffled Isak’s hair before making her way towards the door. “I’ll be in the car, Sweetheart,” she informed her daughter before looking back at him. “See you soon, Isak.”

“Have a good night, don’t work too hard,” he called out as she left the room and tried to smooth down his hair in vain.

“You gonna stay around?” She asked Isak, moving towards her coat that was draped over a dining chair. 

Isak hesitated. He had a lot to sort through, maybe a bike ride would do him good. That or the gym. “You know, I might go actually.”

A bright smile popped onto Sana’s face. “Home?”

“Eventually,” he admitted. He would have to.

“Well, be brave. And if worst comes to the worst we’ll have you here for a few nights. OK? But that’s not going to happen.” Her smile deepened, making perfect dimples in her cheeks.

Isak wished he shared her positivity in the worst not happening, but he appreciated her support in any case.

“OK,” he said non-committally and she sighed as he followed her to the door.

“Hold on,” she said, before bustling back into the house. A few moments passed by, and a handful of soft words were exchanged in the kitchen that were unintelligible through the walls and distance. Then Sana was walking purposefully back towards him, a slight flush to her cheeks. “OK, ready?” 

He hummed in accord before following her out of the house, and making his way to the pavement whilst she climbed into the car, her mum waiting patiently in the passenger seat. 

“Text me, OK?” She said in parting. It was more a command then a request, one Isak would probably end up complying with. 

Well, If there was anything at all to report. “Will do.”

“You wanna study tomorrow? I'm free after ten? I have a project I might need your input on.” And by that she meant bouncing her own ideas off Isak, getting his half baked theories in return that only helped strengthen the confidence in her initial assessments. 

Isak snorted a short laugh. “Sure. Eleven?” 

“Awesome, be safe Isak.” 

He simply nodded as she smiled before closing the door. He watched as the lights turned on and the car pulled out into the road. 

A trickle of relief ran through him, all because he'd confined in someone—despite it being far from concluded. There was at least something in the way of a plan now. He'd usually turn to Jonas with this sort of thing, but he and Eva were increasingly busy with saving and wedding plans and just general adulting. But he was glad he'd told Sana, he could admit that. Sometimes he didn't need to hide behind walls.

Now all he needed was some courage to do what she'd proposed… 

* * *

Isak wasn’t sure how long he’d been cycling, but it was pitch dark and eerily quiet on the roads before he ran out of steam. 

He’d made a path all the way to his old school, up to the church that his mum attended every Sunday, and then followed the river flowing through the city as it made its way to the sea, where he rode down along the waterfront.

When he returned the bike to the dock near the apartment he shared with Even, he still wasn’t any more sure about anything other than the plan to just spend time with Even. But it was cold and it was dark and he desperately needed to piss, so he gave in. Maybe there wasn't a conclusion past riding this out. 

Sana wasn’t wrong; he did have to be brave and face this because it wasn’t going anywhere. Avoiding it was only stressing him out further, and—from what he could see of his housemates reactions—it was in the least confusing for Even. 

The times he came back from the gym, Even had begun to act awkwardly. He didn't deserve the cold shoulder simply because Isak’s dick couldn’t control itself. He was kind, and accommodative, and warm, and open minded, and tall, and his hair would probably be soft without all that gel, and— 

_ Stop, Isak.  _

That wasn’t going to help at all. Above all, Even was someone he lived with and Isak had to remember that point first and foremost. 

Stepping into the apartment, Isak held his breath. It didn’t look like anyone was home and he was caught somewhere between relief and disappointment. He’d been gearing up in his mind to see Even, spend a bit of time with him, trying to pick out and focus on his flaws. As long as he didn’t parade himself around half naked, Isak would be fine. 

Everything would be fine. 

It would. As long as Even wore clothes.

But the apartment was dark and quiet. Hanging his coat on a hook, Isak trotted down the hall towards the bathroom, eager to relieve himself. Throwing the door open, he took one look inside before jumping back and slamming the door shut in his own face and on the billowing wall of steam that had met him. He could hear the sound of faint laughter coming from inside.

_ Fuck _ .

He was not alone, Even was here. 

Even was here and not just bare chested, full blown naked in the fucken bathtub with candles. Lavender candles by the smell of it but he was no god damn scented candle expert. Even was fucking naked and laughing and Isak was clutching his dick because he needed a piss, and that's all it was. He was sporting a semi because he desperately needed to take a leak… 

_ Who was he trying to fool? _

“Isak, what the fuck was that?” Even asked, his voice muffled. 

“I need a piss,” he shouted back. 

“So… come in.” 

So just come in? As simple as that? Isak scowled at the door an inch from his nose. “I can't, you're naked.” 

There was a pause. “Most people take a bath naked, baby bird.” 

Isak rolled his eyes, but his cheeks heated. It was the first time Even had called him that in a week and it caused a strange sensation in Isak’s chest. Maybe he was having a heart attack.

“I'm not a— _ I fucking know that _ ,” Isak sputtered, not sure what point he should be more indignant about—and tackle—first. “I can't piss with you in there.” 

And another pause. “Why not?” Even sounded genuinely baffled by Isak’s resistance to get his dick out in the same room as another guy. Not just another guy, a guy that Isak literally had a hard on for—Even didn't know that. But the premise that he  _ was _ aware of should be enough. Surely? Housemates pissing in front of each other?

“I just can't.” Isak realised, by this point, he sounded like a child. 

“I'm not gonna look at your dick.” 

“I wasn't thinking you were until you just said that.” Isak shot back, the hostility muffled by his panicking. He really did need to piss… imminently. And now he was thinking about Even looking at his dick… 

_ Fuck _ .

He could hear Even sigh. “You want me to get out?” Of course he would damn well offer that. That was in the top five list of amazing things about Even: being accommodating. Not that Isak had made a list. Well, he  _ had _ , but it had been accidental. He'd been trying to come up with things he didn't like about Even and then it just turned into a monstrous list of appealing traits.

“No—no,” he replied hotly. 

Even was quiet for a moment longer, and Isak was glued to the spot not knowing what to do except bring embarrassing to a whole new level and piss all over himself. “So, you can hold it?” 

Isak grimaced, shifting from one foot to the other. “No, I can't.” 

“I'll close my eyes,” Even offered. 

That was one issue solved but Isak would probably break his neck stumbling to the toilet with his eyes closed. “I'll try not to look,” Isak muttered, easing the door open a crack. “I'm coming in.”

“I know.” 

“I thought you were gonna close your eyes?” Isak’s hand paused as the door was open forty-five degrees. 

“I have these things called ears. It's what I'm using to listen to you now.” 

Isak could hear Even’s smile through his words and his stomach clamped down on the laughter that suddenly wanted to erupt at the quip, and at himself for being so nervously foolish. 

“Oh,” Isak lamely declared instead. 

He opened the door wide enough to slip through and tiptoed to the toilet, as if creeping would make this less intrusive or intimate. A quick glance at the tub showed him Even had honoured his word, and that the bath was full of bubbles anyway. 

It also let him know the strain to take a second look and let his eyes linger and roam over Even’s pale, creamy skin was harder than his dick had been all week. 

“Thanks,” he muttered, sounding anything but grateful as he unzipped his jeans and pulled himself out to piss. By some miracle he was soft enough to be able to go easily. 

“You're welcome,” Even replied. 

A long silence stretched out while they both listened to the sound of Isak’s urine hitting the water in the toilet bowl. Quality time, Sana had said. This was far from that. He was already fucking this all up. 

“ _ Blue plaid boxers _ ?” The three words were a question and one that made Isak jump as he tucked himself in, almost catching himself in the zipper. 

“I thought you weren't going to look?” Isak shot over his shoulder with a glare, before immediately regretting it because Even was now sat forward and Isak could just see his long back, gleaming with water, and his wet hair plastered to the nape of his neck. The thought crossed his mind that Even was probably pretty flexible before he squeezed his eyes shut again wishing himself anywhere but here.

_ Stop. It. Isak. _

“I wasn't looking at you, I just opened my eyes and I can see your back in the mirror… And your underwear. I would have thought you were more a brief kinda guy.” Despite his eyes being pressed closed, Isak could clearly envisage Even’s smile as he spoke. 

_ He'd thought about what underwear Isak wore?  _

“That's still looking at me,” Isak replied stubbornly. 

Surprising himself, Isak pushed the toilet lid closed, turned and sat himself down on the seat. If Even could fucking look then so could he. “They're my lucky boxers.”

“Were you hoping to get lucky? I didn't think that was your thing.” Even asked, too innocently.

Isak rolled his eyes. “There's more than one kinda  _ lucky, _ but no. I just missed my scheduled laundry day this week.” All because he'd been avoiding the apartment like the plague had come again and this was the epicentre of the outbreak. 

Nodding, Even eased back against the side of the tub, bubbles high enough to cover him decently. Isak was pleased about that and not disappointed in the slightest. 

Even cast a look over his bare shoulder at him. “You OK?” he asked, probably confused as to why Isak had decided to take a seat with the outward impression of being bored with his arms crossed tightly over his chest. 

“Why wouldn't I be?”

Even stared at him with a half smile that said he was ignoring the urge to bring up Isak's resistance—only a moment ago—to being in the same room as him and his order for Even to put a t-shirt on at breakfast last week. 

“I don't know. Busy week?” He turned away, leaning his head back, and closing his eyes while his chin tilted towards the ceiling. Isak decided that his neck was long too; elegant, and long, and sexy… 

_ Isak. Stop! _

“Something like that,” he muttered. “You?” And he was suddenly confronted by shock at the need welling in him to hear exactly how Even’s week had been; all these moments he was home alone and Isak was out cycling or gyming his pent-up frustration away.

Even shrugged. “It's been quiet,” he opened an eye to peer across the room at Isak. “I was at home a lot more than usual.” 

Isak broke his gaze away, instead deciding to carry out an intense study of the bathroom mirror. The candle light made everything soft and cosy. Isak found himself wondering if the bathtub could hold two… 

“Really? I hadn't noticed,” he stammered.

Even snorted. “Of course not, you've not been here.” He moved to lean on the edge of the tub, arms crossed over each other and his chin resting on them as he peered into Isak. “You didn't even text me back. I've been worried I'd committed the ultimate  _ Isak sin. _ ” 

“Sorry, I just forgot,” he murmured. He'd relaxed, his hands resting in his lap but now he crossed them across his chest again to defend himself from that penetrating gaze. “I've just been stressed. If I'm out doing stuff, I work through it better.” 

“Anything I can help with?” he asked hopefully. 

Isak just shook his head. 

“ _ Stuff _ ?” 

“Yeah studying, or the gym, or cycling…” He managed to refrain from adding  _ wanking _ to the list.

“ _ You go out cycling in this weather?” _ Even asked incredulously. He was already shaking his head and tutting as Isak replied. 

“Yeah, why not?” 

“It's dark and cold. You'll get ill, and do you even have a helmet?” Isak wanted to laugh at the mothering but Even’s voice was serious, and his expression severe. 

“I wrap up, and I'm careful,” Isak began to defend himself. Why should he have to do that? 

“So that's a no? Do you wear reflective gear?” Even pressed, his eyes scouring Isak’s dark and muted clothes skeptically. 

“Well, no, but who the fuck does?” 

Even was shaking his head again. “People that don't want to die. If you're gonna insist on riding around in the dark—when it gets icy and the roads are no better than a death trap—I'm following you in the car.” And he leaned back again, his arms resting on either side of the tub as he closed his eyes. Case closed, apparently. “And I'm buying you a reflective jacket,” he added, like it was nothing. 

Isak worked his mouth caught between astonishment, offense, and that strange warm feeling that was kindling in his chest. “I'm an adult; I can look after myself.” 

“I'm yet to be convinced,” Even murmured just loud enough to catch Isak’s ears. And he could see Even smiling, he could feel himself smiling when he should be mad as hell. 

“I'm  _ not _ wearing a reflective jacket,” Isak stated. 

“If you're gonna be stubborn, I'll get a helmet too— _no,_ I'll get one anyway.” 

Isak sputtered something that he meant to be an outright refusal. What the fuck was going on? “It's not like I race around, I just go slow and follow the paths. Most of the time I'm not even on the road.” Why was he explaining himself? He should just say no. 

Even made a humming noise that was absolutely non-committal. He was genuinely concerned about Isak, and along with him considering what underwear he wore, maybe Sana could be right. Maybe he could like Isak. 

Isak pushed that notion right to the back of his mind as soon as it appeared. 

“I only do it to help me think. And it's nice riding through the city when no one else is around. It's calming.” Isak had decided to explain himself further to keep him from considering things that may lead to painful disappointment, this strategy produced babbled nonsense however. “Riding along the waterfront at three in the morning is my favourite time and place—preferably a Sunday. The world just seems quieter.” He chewed on his lip as he thought about it; he felt freer then, and he felt he could be himself. “Well, that or my bed,” he added with a grin, coming back to himself and focussing on Even. Even was observing him in a curious way, Isak couldn't tell what was behind his eyes but—whatever was going on—it dried out his mouth.

“Sounds nice,” he murmured. 

Isak tried to figure how he could shift the focus from himself. “What about you? Your favorite time and place?”

Even hesitated, and Isak could see him considering his answer before he spoke. “Midnight, the club, preferably a Friday night—or Saturday morning—and in the middle of a crowd losing their minds.” His answer was delivered just how Even would usually speak, but there was something off. It seemed wooden and there was an element of disappoint in his expression that made Isak think the first answer he'd thought of had been completely different than the one he admitted. 

Isak snorted, narrowing his eyes at Even. “I don't believe you.” 

Even’s jaw dropped in mocked mortification, but there was pleasure there too. Was he pleased that Isak could read his lies? “Are you calling me a liar?”

“Straight up,” Isak affirmed, aiming a smug look at Even. 

And then he laughed; it was warm and enveloped Isak entirely, like he was in the tub and Even was the water. He'd missed this warmth and comfort. He'd missed Even. How was he going to stay sane living with him? 

“OK, you got me,” he admitted. 

“Well,” Isak asked after a pause. “Are you gonna tell me?” 

Even stared at him a long moment, and Isak forced himself to breathe because that intense gaze seemed to peel back his layers easily. He was vulnerable to Even and he had to remind himself to be scared of that feeling instead of submit to it. 

“I'll show you.” And with that decision made, Even sat up, clutching the side of the bath to pull himself up and out. 

Isak leaped from his seat in a panic. He didn't need to see this, and Even really didn't need to see any embarrassing reactions that occurred because of this. “ _ Just fucken wait and I'll get out _ ,” he sputtered, racing to the door. 

As well as a grunted laugh, Isak could still hear water sloshing at his back; Even hadn't slowed his assent from the water. 

“It's not like I have anything you haven't seen before,” Even said, the sound of one foot hitting the floor just as Isak put the door between them. 

“I would still like a choice, you know, if I actually  _ want  _ to see your naked ass.” Who the fuck was he kidding? Even’s ass had had a starring role in his dreams all week. “Christ,” he muttered, leaning against the wall and trying to gather some sense of decorum.He decided the only safe option was to think about naked old ladies building snowmen. That was better.

The gloriously non-sexual—and frankly nightmarish—winter wonderland was shattered as soon as Even pulled the door open, towel around his waist and another over his shoulder. Isak decided the only option was to stare, unblinkingly, at a spot on the wall, to the left of Even’s head. 

“I’ll get dressed,” he said, turning to stride towards his room.

“Good idea,” Isak called after him like it was the last word in an argument, before figuring he didn’t actually know what Even was intending and where they were actually going. 

Frowning, Isak stared at Even’s retreating back before his eyes dropped a little lower, his head tilting to one side, and he found himself trying to make out Even’s ass through the towel.

_ Focus, Isak.  _

Clearing his throat, he managed to snap out of his lechering before Even looked over his shoulder as he reached his bedroom door.

“Where the fuck are we going anyway?”

Even grinned. “It’s a surprise.”

###  Even

Satisfied was not a good enough word to describe what Even felt as Isak watched him with a bemused expression and lingered at the door. Even had heated some milk in a pan, adding cocoa powder and then poured the liquid into a large flask with a cap that doubled as a cup. 

He’d shoved it in a backpack, along with something he secretly retrieved from the fridge, and then strode towards Isak, still watching him in confusion. This had been a part of his plan, but Isak had presented the perfect place. 

And it had definitely been a snort of surprise that had come from Isak when Even had stopped at the bike dock. “How does this work then?”

He’d hesitated a moment before replying. “You want to cycle to… wherever?”

Even had just nodded in response. “Why not? You don’t think I can ride a bike?” And the sceptical once over Isak had given him said it all. 

A few more minutes, and a phone app later, and they were both riding along the dark streets, enjoying the gentle slopes from where the their apartment was and meeting the river, following the path alongside it—just like Isak said he did. Towards the sea. 

The ride was technically quiet, if not for the questions Even could sense were buzzing around in Isak’s skull. He was on the verge of laughter every time a curious and skeptical look was thrown at him; which was to say he was almost laughing every minute or two. 

“I hear the suites are nice in there,” Isak nodded in the direction of the Plaza as they cycled across the bridge that brought them to a park, laying in the shadow of that hotel, towering high above Oslo. 

“They are,” Even agreed. He’d never been himself though, up there, and it made him consider what Isak had said about being out here, on a bike—somewhere he could be himself. “Home is better though,” he added, smiling to himself. 

He could feel Isak frowning at the remark, but they kept on in silence as they found the roads, passed the central train station, up until Even slowed down and slung his leg over the bike to dismount at a dock. Isak followed suit, sliding the wheels into the metal supports.

“Where are we going?” Isak probed again. 

Even just nodded to the large curving building in front of them.

“The opera house?”

“Yup.”

It didn’t take them long to get to the top, and they settled near the edge of the roof ledge, looking out over the harbour and the rest of the city and the sea. This was a better view than the Plaza, they had the open air and the open skies. They could be free here.

Isak watched him as he unscrewed the cap of the flask and filled it with hot chocolate, then he took the cream he’d smuggled from the fridge and squirted it on the top.

“So, this is your spot?” 

Even hummed as he nodded and sipped at the drink, before handing it to Isak. Isak frowned at the offering. “It’s cold out here, you have to stay warm,” Even put to him as leverage. “You don't have it with marshmallows, do you?”

Isak snorted disdainfully. “Of course not. Those are for campfires only.”

“Good,” Even mused to himself. Marshmallows on campfires was doable. 

His advice was accepted as Isak took the cup and turned it in his hands before taking a sip. He hummed in appreciated before wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. “It’s good.”

“I'm glad you like it.” Even found himself warmed more at Isak’s approval than from the effect of the drink. 

He wanted to study Isak’s profile as Isak, in turn, scoured the view from this vantage point, but it felt intrusive. So, he looked out over the water, too. There was a ferry docked, as big as it was it still looked small from up here. “When things were shitty at home I used to climb out of my window and come here. Just sit for hours and watch the world on my own, or bring a book and read if there was enough light.” 

He could feel Isak’s eyes on him. “You didn’t have a happy childhood?”

It wouldn’t have been hard for Isak to piece that together, with the admission about his mother and revealing to him the song that comforted him, it sounded far from idyllic. And it had been.

“No, it wasn’t happy.” But what was happiness, really? It wasn’t a destination, that was for sure. “Poverty, alcohol, violence; it wasn’t fun,” he added candidly. 

His jaw firmed, before taking the cup that had been set on the stone surface. He downed it like  _ he _ was Eskild and  _ it  _ was vodka, before refilling it and handing it back to Isak. The words seemed to come easily, but the fear came in the unsurety of what Isak’s reaction would be to the truths. Even cared about what he thought of him. That in itself was unique. 

“I’m sorry,” Isak said softly. Even’s attention turned to him, his eyes were deep with empathy and they glinted like the stars in the sky above them. Two pools of hope in the dark.

“It’s not your fault,” Even said, trying to laugh the sombre aura that seemed to settle on them, isolating them from the rest of the world. Just the two of them. 

Clearing his throat, Even tried to search for a change of subject. The more he spoke about what made him  _ him _ , the greater the risk of having Isak see him as the damaged soul that he was. Then this connection might be lost, whatever this connection was. But all he could think of was the stars as Isak stared at him. 

“How’s the studying going?” he asked casually. It was related to the stars. He’d overheard Isak and Sana discussing so much, including the universe and space and time. It was fascinating. 

“Good, I guess. I’m getting the work done, so,” he shrugged, accepting the change of topic easily, and taking a drink from their cup. 

“The busy week has been worth it then?”

Isak hesitated before nodding. “Sure. I was doing quite a lot of work on some theoretical astrophysics, it’s fun to get lost in.” 

Laughing softly, Even easily imagined Isak getting lost in complex theories. “I might not understand everything, but feel free to overwhelm me with this information.” Even offered through a grin.

Isak chewed his lip before uttering a quiet word. “Ditto.” And Even understood what he meant; the previous topic hadn’t been cast of from his mind entirely. The one word was absolving. Even had to remind himself to breathe. 

Isak saved him though, clearing his throat he plowed on into information. “There is this one study, by a guy called Chary, that says we can see the oldest light in our universe—created when our universe was three hundred and eighty thousand years old. That bit is fact, but the theory is there’s a mysterious glow that kinda bleeds into our universe that he thinks is evidence of alternate universes. It’s pretty cool.” 

Even was nodding along, it all sounded pretty fucking out there but also way beyond his comprehension. “I’m stuck on the fact we can still see light from that long ago. How old is our universe?”

“About fourteen billion years old.”

“Holy shit.” 

“It’s pretty cool. It just shows how the smallest actions can ripple through time, we can never know how we change things by the smallest things we do and their lasting impact.” Isak said, staring up into the sky. 

“Makes me think of a quote:  _ No one is actually dead until the ripples they caused in the world die away _ .”

Isak’s focus was back on Even, along with a curious gaze. “Where’s that quote from?”

“Pratchett; a fantasy writer,” he replied with a grin.  

Isak laughed. It felt like the first time Even had heard it in years, which was ridiculous. But the sound made Even want to move closer to him. To feel him near, follow their connection. “It’s not wrong, we could say, theoretically, that no one really dies in that case.” 

“I can grasp that—just about, but the parallel universes?” He finished off shaking his head. 

Isak shrugged in response. “It’s out of grasp for the scientists making the theories, too. There’s evidence to go on but nothing that you can dig into. The most we can say is there are maybe more universes in this super-region that our universe sits in, and they are probably governed by different forces. But the possibilities are endless; countless copies of the same thing with small differences—larger differences…” Isak trailed off looking introspectively. 

“So, somewhere in this  _ multiregion,  _ there’s another universe where Isak and Even are sat right here but… drinking coffee instead?”

Isak came back to him now, smiling so wide it carved those deep lines in his cheeks. Even felt his fingers itch to follow those lines. 

“Exactly,” he replied, almost proud at Even coming to that conclusion unaided. But Even had to look away, because this need to be closer to someone—to Isak—was new, and he was trying to figure out what the fuck it all meant. 

For once, Even found himself struggling for a conversation thread. His thoughts were all tangled in a torrent, his tongue twisted by vague desires. But Isak was there to shock him out of his stupor.

“Are  _ you _ studying?” It was said hesitantly, like Isak was unsure he could tread this ground. Even turned to frown at him; how would he have figured that out? “I just saw a letter from Westerdals—it’s not my business, I know—” he added quickly, trying to back track from probing what he probably thought was too far. But it wasn’t, Even didn’t care if Isak knew.

He cut him off with a nod. “I am, but no one knows. Except you now.” 

It was Isak’s turn to grapple for words. “That’s cool. What are you studying?”

“Film and TV BA.” Even answered, it was nerve wracking to be saying it outloud to anyone. 

Isak was nodding. “Why do you keep it a secret?” he asked quietly. 

Sighing, Even tried to figure out where to begin. “You know I’m independant, everything I have has only come from me because I had no one. The only people in my everyday life, until I left home, thought I was worthless—I fucked up school because they made me believe I was nothing. It’s hard to admit to anyone, besides myself, that I want something like this. I don’t want people to laugh at me.”

Isak’s mouth was open, and there was a look on his face that was a place of anguish between trepidation and sorrow. “I’m not laughing,” he murmured finally.

Smiling reassuringly, Even acknowledged the pull towards Isak again. “I know.” Somehow he didn’t fear that response from Isak. 

“And I could tell you that Eskild, and  _ everyone  _ else _ ,  _ wouldn’t laugh either. But you have a right to feel what you feel. If keeping it to yourself makes you feel more secure then I won’t say a word and I won’t say that’s wrong… not that you asked my opinion.” Isak spluttered the last words out quickly, trying desperately not to overstep whatever marks he imagined there were. But Even was quickly understanding there was nothing off limits. 

“I like your opinions, they are pretty solid.” No one had ever told Even he had a right to feel what he felt. He’d always been told what he felt was wrong, what he saw was incorrect, what he’d experienced was fabricated. “Feel what I feel,” he mused to himself. 

_ But what did he feel right now? _

Isak was taking a drink from their cup, staring out across the city in his own thoughts. “Only you can feel what you feel,” he added, almost to himself. 

“Is that a quote?” Even asked, following the shape of Isak’s profile again, this time he didn’t bother to look away when he caught himself. 

“Yep. By one Mr Isak Valtersen,” he replied, with a grin,

Even snorted a laugh. “What quotes do you live by?”

A frown was levelled at him. “I don’t live by other people's perspective, I gather my own from the evidence.”

Rolling his eyes, Even returned a frank gaze to Isak. “You know what I mean. Any quotes you remember that help you out—keep you focussed?”

Isak shrugged. “I always liked Asimov:  _ If knowledge can create problems, it’s not through ignorance that we can solve them _ .”

“That’s very you—and true. You read?” Even asked eagerly. He loved reading himself, and losing himself in fictitious worlds when he had the time. It was one of his only methods of escapism.

“Science fiction—when I have the time to read. I like short to the point books. I never had the patience for big fantasy epics, like you.” 

Even found himself nodding, it made sense. “Everyone escapes in different ways: me into different worlds and you exploring this one.”

“So, what quotes do you live by?” Isak asked, resting back on his hands and looking at Even expectantly. And for a moment Even completely forgot the question he was being asked.

“Quotes,” he stated, as much to himself as to anyone else. What quotes did he live by? “ _ To err is human, to forgive divine,  _ that always stuck with me. It lets you move on, not necessarily for their sake but your own.”

“It sounds biblical,” Isak put, all of a sudden looking skeptical. Apparently no less of a fan of religion than Even—which was understandable given what he now knew of Isak’s parents. He himself just never had time for it; it was nice in theory, messy in application. 

Even snorted. “Maybe it is originally, but if you hadn’t passed out last week, you’d know it was from Some Like It Hot.”

Much to Even’s pleasure, Isak blushed in the endearing way that he did. “Sorry about that.”

“You don’t have to be sorry, it was nice. I’ve never slept better actually—maybe you have a good aura.” Even snickered, tiptoeing around that question he’d considered asking, or making a joke of, last week. 

Isak moved his mouth the awkward way he did when he was thinking a lot but didn’t quite know what to say. Why would that topic make him so jittery? “Aura,” he simply repeated, before shaking his head and dismissing the notion. The blush hadn’t lessened though. Even had to remind himself that Isak was a private person, this was probably all new territory for him. It should make Even as nervous too, but it didn't.

Isak sat forward, rubbing against his arms with both hands. Evidently the weather was getting to him.

“Here,” Even said, passing him the flask. Isak’s smile was crisp but he thought that might be mostly due to the weather.

Isak refilled the cup before picking up the can and squirting an absurd amount of cream on the top. It looked more like an ice cream and Even couldn't help but laugh, and to his relief Isak continued to grin at Even’s amusement.

“What? I need the calories. It's cold,” he said in reply to the laughter.

“That and you're working out everyday,” Even added, and abruptly he had to keep his mind from wandering off and recollecting Isak’s brisque post gym processions through the apartment. Why would that come to mind?

Clearing his throat, Isak moved the topic back a notch, for which Even was grateful. He wasn't sure what it was he was feeling and why, he didn't know where to start. 

“I've remembered another quote I live by,” he exclaimed, the hot chocolate still hovering in front of his mouth—he still hadn't taken a sip of it yet.

Sitting forward, Even peered intently at Isak. “OK, shoot.”

“ _ The cosmos are within us _ ,” he announced, with a grin.

“Well it had to be sciency.”

Isak shot him a bemused expression. “It's more philosophy… based on science. So, I guess so…” he trailed off, looking into his hot chocolate like it was the actual cosmos. “I like the notion that we are all made of star stuff; we're all a part of this incredible system; we're all unique but also connected.”

Even only knew he was smiling because his cheeks began to ache. “I'm not surprised by the geekiness, but it's actually pretty fucking romantic too. Who knew? Isak the romantic...” The jibe was said in a soft tone, Even wasn't trying to make fun of him. It was actually wonderfully beautiful, he decided.

Isak sputtered incredulously before grumbling something incoherent, but he couldn't mask the smile pulling at his own lips. Betraying himself, he tried to hide his reaction by taking a sip of the drink. But it was too late; Even had caught it and he puzzled at why those words would soften him so much.

Before he could work the situation out, Isak’s hand dropped to place the cup on the cold surface they were sat on. He looked about to retort with some smart quip, the kind that Even was learning always came after one of the smirks Isak now wore. But whatever he meant to say died as laughter bubbled from Even unstoppably. He'd tried to hold it in but it was impossible. Now Isak was considering him with a wary gaze.

“ _ What _ ?” he asked hotly.

“It’s just,” Even cut off as a new wave of amusement swept over him. That quick drink of hot chocolate had left Isak with, not only a liquid moustache, but a splodge of cream on his nose and cheek. “You have a little…” Even tried to gesture to where all of the mess was on his own face.

Isak licked at his upper lip, whilst swiping away the cream on his nose. “Gone?” Isak asked, accusation lacing his words as if Even had sabotaged him on purpose.

“Yeah… except,” Even gestured to his own cheek, but Isak mirrored him, getting the wrong side. Shaking his head, Even decided to stop beating around the bush.

He reached towards Isak's face, bemused by the way his eyes widened in what might have been terror. Even hesitated an inch from his face. “Let me,” he said gently.

“OK.” The way Isak answered felt to Even like how you would speak through numb lips, like Isak was disorientated.

Even closed the distance, resting his palm against Isak’s cheek, his thumb tenderly ran over the spot of cream, wiping it from his cool skin that seemed to be warming rapidly under his touch.

His eyes dropped to Isak’s mouth to find hot chocolate residue that his quick, sharp tongue had missed. Even’s thumb travelled down to the corner of his lips, delicately wiping that away too.

It was this motion that enticed the reaction that connected all the dots for Even. Isak’s lower lip quivered and then broke away from the upper, mouth parting slightly to let a shaky breath rush free.

Even’s gaze travelled quickly back to Isak's eyes, urgently looking for some validation of what had just become clear. But his eyes were closed, lashes laying flat against his cheeks. He was trembling just from Even’s hand cupping his face.

Even’s mouth was dry and he'd stopped breathing, but his blood rushed back to him in a flood and air sucked rapidly into his lungs as Isak leaned into his touch. It was just a tilt of his head by a fraction but it was—without doubt—the most tender thing Even had ever seen.

He found his eyes back on Isak’s lips, watching short rapid puffs of air mist between them. Even could see his pulse racing in his throat.

It was simultaneous; the realisation that Isak was attracted to him, explaining away his confusing behaviour all week, and at the same time Even recognised the overwhelming desire that was born in him to kiss.

Kiss instead of talk.

Kiss instead of breathe.

Kiss instead of anything else.

Kiss Isak.

He  _ wanted _ Isak.

As if the notion had been verbal, Isak’s eyes snapped wide open and he floundered, somehow managing to knock the cup over and spilling the contents all over the stone surface and himself.

He pulled away from Even, and Even physically felt painful regret in the loss of contact. He was just becoming accustomed to Isak's skin beneath his, and the soft curls coiling around his fingertips; it already felt right. That achingly empty feeling as his fingers had roamed other bodies, bodies that were not Isak, now made sense. His hands belonged here, on Isak, but Isak was pulling away with panic drowning him.

“Fuck, sorry. I was clumsy, that was the last of the drink and I fucked it up—”

“Isak, it's OK,” Even was meant to reassure but his voice was rocky and unsteady.

“No,” Isak cut in. “It was stupid,” he said, pushing himself to his feet and brushing over the wet patch on his trouser leg. “It’s gonna get cold quick and you should never get jeans wet in cold weather cos it takes forever to dry. You can get hypothermia. And I just wasted all that hot chocolate that you made, I’m such an idiot.” Isak was stuttering the words out, obviously thrown off by what had happened and frustrated with himself. But was that self facing irritation because he’d messed up the moment or because he’d left himself open? Did he want this?

Even wanted to reassure him, reconnect with him, but right now something told him that if he tried to do that, Isak might freak out even more. And he wanted to laugh at Isak’s overreaction too, but he was still so shocked at everything that had just unfurled in his mind; making the most obvious situation undeniably clear. Why had it taken him so long to figure this out?

“Shall we go home?” Even offered. It wasn’t defeat, it was a retreat to where they could be themselves with a defence against the outside world. 

Isak just nodded, unable to meet Even’s eyes. And now that the desire was there to kiss him, Even wanted nothing more than to fold himself around Isak, uncover all of the spiralling thoughts and worries that were dancing in his mind, and kiss him until he couldn’t think about anything other than being kissed. 

It was a heavily defining moment as Even realised this was quite some milestone he had just reached. 

But Isak was turning now, making his way carefully down the opera house roof and towards the bike dock below, and the retreat home was quieter than their journey out, the silence being more poignant.

Even found himself as deep in thought as Isak no doubt was. Of course Isak would work it all out before he did, he was probably more aware than Even was of his own emotions, despite him keeping a distance from them for a long time—not to mention the fact he was clever as fuck.

Even had blocked off this part of himself before it had naturally emerged in him. He’d completely disregarded feeling a connection with someone like this, or even being attracted to someone—it just never had happened. Now he couldn’t stop seeing Isak’s smile when he closed his eyes. And now he knew how it felt to touch him, to listen to him talk about the things he loved, to look after him, Even ached for it all. There was no doubt that this was something he was feeling deep inside, somewhere untouched. That was the best he could describe what was happening to him as he cycled through the dark, staring at Isak’s back. 

Isak was scared, he could feel that much at least. But that feeling wasn’t shared by Even, it was probably smart of Isak to feel that; they were both damaged in their own ways. Perhaps cobbling themselves together would make everything worse; issues on top of issues.

Even found himself rejecting that notion vehemently, with no evidence at all. Somehow he knew that it just wasn’t the case. But there was so much that needed to be shared and suddenly Even could hear Eskild making the case for him to be honest with Isak. 

Had Eskild figured it out then? 

Pouring over the details of their conversations, it seemed so. Either way, he was right. But how would Isak react to what Even did? Would he see that it didn’t define him?

Worries began to gnaw at Even, and he couldn’t recall the specifics of their journey home, he just remembered staring at the details of Isak’s jacket—that truly was not reflective at all—trying to garner some reassurance or answers from the bleak material. 

He just had to be brave, there was no two ways about it. However, they both probably needed to sleep on it, he concluded. Isak was darting up the stairs, taking them two at a time, as they made their way to the apartment. He didn’t look like he was in a fit state to talk and Even had to prepare what he was going to say and how. 

An idea came to mind, one that would mean he would probably need to go and find a shop still open, either tonight or in the morning, but it would be worth it—he hoped. 

Even was still close on Isak’s heels as he strode purposefully to his room. Even was imagining Isak had a series of events he was focussing on: get to room, change trousers, put jeans in washing machine, wash, shut his bedroom door and get into bed. Maybe he would listen to Wuthering Heights, too. 

He dared to reach out, nervously touching Isak’s shoulder to gain his attention. He thought maybe Isak would flinch away but he simply froze on the spot, a terrified look shot back over his shoulder at Even.

“Can you join me for breakfast?”

Isak’s mouth moved but no sound came out, so he nodded instead. “Time?” he managed to croak.

“Whenever you wake up,” Even shrugged, adding a smile that seemed to ease Isak. That was good, if he could still make him comfortable somehow.

“OK,” Isak replied, a bashful half smile pulling at his lips. 

Then he was darting into his room and the door was pulled through behind him. Even expected the door to be closed securely but the smallest crack was left. That soothed Even for a reason he couldn’t understand. Maybe it meant he didn’t regret opening up, back on the opera house roof. 

Even made his way to his own room, flopping on to the bed and staring aimlessly at his ceiling. He missed the stars being over head. He missed Isak being next to him.

Pulling out his phone, Even conceded that he wasn’t going to get much rest tonight. Now he just needed to figure out what shop might be open that would have what he needed. 

 


	6. Chapter Five

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “What do you want me to do?” he asked. 
> 
> “I don't know,” Isak stammered. 
> 
> A puff of steamy air was expelled as Even huffed a laugh, Isak could see it in the corner of his eye as he studied Even’s hands. He just wanted those hands on him, but how did he ask? “I don't know either,” he paused before daring to add, “I'm scared.” 
> 
> Isak brows drew together in bewilderment. Even was scared?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here I am! It was a longer chapter, but with the advice from my beta I kinda cut it off at a crucial point.
> 
> I may be cruel, but she's... more cruel? HAHAHA.
> 
> Enjoy <3
> 
> Love,  
> Becs

##  Chapter Five 

###  Isak 

He was quite certain that—after several hours of staring at a ceiling that had morphed from a mottled deep grey into a cool off-white—there were definitely no secret codes in the swirling plaster pattern above him. 

Isak wasn't surprised that he hadn't slept, he’d climbed into bed with that exact expectation. If he’d been lucky perhaps he might have phased into unconsciousness when the dark was at its deepest and his staring had been aimless. But he couldn't be sure.

Even  _ knew _ . That much he was aware of. He now knew that Isak liked him in a way that he probably should not, considering their circumstances. But what he didn't know was how Even felt. Evidently he wasn't repulsed by it, but that didn’t necessarily mean he was keen. 

All of the evidence for and against Even reciprocating Isak’s feelings had swirled in his brain, battering against one another with no clear winner. And this had led Isak’s emotions to pull and push: from excitement, reluctance, fear, self loathing… But the only constant was unsurety. 

He’d even managed to sprinkled some romantic fantasies over the tumultuous mass—which hadn't helped. Isak would imagine unremarkable domestic situations— coming home from uni, making dinner, washing up—but, within that normalcy, Even would be smiling at him, moving to him, tilting his head down towards Isak to kiss him... 

And then Isak would pull up short, sharp flares shooting across his chest as he struggled to breathe at simply entertaining one single kiss. His brain was working hard to reject any imagined sweetness; a sweetness that may not happen. 

He’d been so sure it was nearly a kiss on the opera house roof. Even’s hand had made itself at home on his skin as soon as they connected, his fingertips had pushed into his hair as Isak had chased the warmth of his palm. His thumb pushing at the corner of his mouth had forced Isak’s lips to part. It had been too much, yet still not enough because Isak couldn’t stop aching for that moment to last, just a little longer. Just one more heartbeat.

And now the handprint on his cheek still burned like a brand; whether Even wanted him or not, he’d marked Isak as his own.

When he'd opened his eyes, forcing himself from that temporary lull, the look on Even’s face had been one he couldn't decipher. It had ranged from confusion, shock, intrigue. Isak had thought that there might have been desire there, in eyes darker than usual. But he doubted his memories now, he wasn't an unbiased source. He did want Even to want him, no matter how dumb that may be, or how complex that would make their situation. 

More than that, he wanted that moment to have felt as poignant to Even as it had to him. Everything had slowed, everything had seemed to fit into place, the world fell away. There was just Isak and Even in that moment. And if he was alone in that, Isak was probably insanely infatuated, then even friendship would be unsustainable. 

After all that puzzling, Isak had concluded that he could only prepare for the worst. That way he could be surprised if that wasn't the case. 

Sana's voice kept sounding in his brain on loop:  _ be brave _ . 

With that prompt he sat, scrubbing the sleep from his eyes, before making his way to the door. Even had said they'd do breakfast as soon as Isak was awake, so they could have done this at any point during the night. But Isak at least wanted to give the outward impression that he was a relatively normal functioning human who didn't lay awake for… 

He looked at his clock. It was 8:27. 

…who lay awake for seven hours, just going through the motions of sleeping. So: lying in the same spot, unmoving.  

Isak needed to get this out of the way, he needed to hear whatever Even wanted to talk about so he could get on and pack his meagre belongings and go sit on Sana’s doorstep. 

Surprisingly, his feet didn't drag on their way to the kitchen. They seemed eager. Maybe they knew something his brain didn't. Unsurprisingly, Even was up and making breakfast. The smells that curled into his lungs made his mouth water and brought up the ever regretful memory of leaving that omelette untouched last week. He should probably apologise for that.

Isak stood at the threshold, staring at Even’s back while he summoned the power to speak. He looked like he was mixing a batter, there was a tea towel over his shoulder and today he had sweat pants on and a t-shirt. Even was wearing clothes so everything would be fine, he ignored the petulant sigh Isak could have sworn he heard coming from his dick. 

It was at that moment that Even looked over his shoulder, his face lighting up at the sight of Isak. He willed his heart to continue beating because it, too, was frozen by that bright smile. 

“Morning,” he said. His tone was excitable but Isak heard an edge of nerves there. That could either be a good or bad thing.

He nodded at the table when Isak remained motionless. “You wanna sit? This won't take long.”

_ What wouldn't take long? The rejection? _

He turned from Isak, as if hearing the unspoken worry, to pour some of the mixture into a waffle iron; the waffles wouldn't take long. 

_ They had a waffle iron? _

Isak was still trying to force words from him and, just like he'd broken through a wall, they tumbled out all at once. “I didn't shower or change yet, I slept in my clothes—no, I didn't  _ really  _ sleep. I didn't brush my teeth either—or my hair,” he sputtered before running out of steam. What he'd meant to say was he'd completely fucked up his routine and he probably wasn't fit for company. But what it ended up sounding like was a long list of why Isak was an incredibly inept human being. 

_ Fuck, he was bad at this. _

Even was staring at him with wide eyes, filled with a tenderness that—in anyone else—would have irritated Isak. But it smoothed out his creases instead, especially when paired with that soft smile—that smile which made Isak’s stomach do flips. 

“This can wait a few minutes if you want?” he offered, but Isak was already shaking his head. 

“I don't think I can,” he stated, somehow able to say it plainly. But there was no functioning normally until this was all clear, Even just nodded like that made perfect sense. Maybe he understood.

“OK.” He nodded towards the table, while lifting the top press on the iron and checking the progress. “There's some juice out already and berries, some cream… I have syrup—if you like your waffles with syrup. But it should be quite sweet already.” 

_ At least something would be sweet then. _

Isak was walking towards the table like he was moving through a daydream. Even had gone to a lot of trouble. There hadn’t even been any berries in the fridge yesterday. Had he gone out to get them? This was either a way to impress someone, or preparations for the nicest rejection ever. But if anyone was going to let someone down in such a wonderfully pleasant way it would be Even. Still, nothing was concrete for Isak. 

He dithered at the table. His Mr Happy mug was sat on the coaster of his regular setting, a plain porcelain cup on Even’s side. Isak wanted to have the gall to take Even’s side, the way Even had switched their plates last week, but he didn't want to look like an idiot. Because if this was rejection, he'd feel even more foolish. 

With a defeated sigh, Isak slumped into his chair, looking up to the kitchen in time to see Even watching him curiously. He blinked it away, replacing it with his normal cheerful expression. “I didn't sleep well either. I haven't made waffles in—” He paused to chew his lip, looking at the ceiling as if it held the answers. “  _ Years _ . I thought I'd forgotten, so I kept going over the method in my mind,” he laughed, and that nervous tone was there again, there was no mistaking it. 

Isak wasn't about to jump to conclusions, he silently told his knife and fork whilst glaring at them as if they were taunting him with childish nursery rhymes. 

_ Even and Isak, sitting in a tree…  _

Isak was beginning to sweat under the imaginary teasing his cutlery was giving him. “I'm sure it'll be nice,” Isak said.  _ Nice _ ? Could he not find a better word? “ _ Amazing _ ,” he corrected before cringing at himself. He'd over-egged it now, it sounded like sarcasm. 

_ Jesus, someone help him. _

“You can be the judge,” Even replied, it didn't seem like he'd perceived it as a slight. And now he was coming to the table, plates in hand. He paused once his feet stopped near his chair, silently debating something before placing the food down exactly like he had last week; their plates switched. And for whatever reason, Isak sighed relief as Even sat down. 

“That's my plate,” he muttered through a grin that he couldn't control, his eyes darting up to find Even’s, bright and full of life. They seemed to absorb Isak in his entirety. It should have frightened him but instead Isak just wanted to melt into him. He  _ wanted  _ to be absorbed.

Clearing his throat, Isak tried to focus on the food beneath his nose. Not only did it smell great, it looked amazing. He spooned on some berries and cream, just like Even was doing. 

“Food tastes better off yours.” Even began to cut into his waffle. 

Isak followed suit, snorting at the remark. “So, I get less flavour now?”

“I can always feed you?” he retorted. Isak could hear the smirk that was present, even if the proposed notion was offered with trepidation. But he couldn't look up, his cheeks were warming now as well as his palms sweating. 

Even wanted to feed him food? Or it was a joke? But he wouldn't joke when he knew how Isak felt. Or was he just trying to return their relationship to playful banter? This was all too fucking complicated and Isak wanted Even to just state it now; tell him he wasn't interested outright.

“Sorry about last week, I shouldn't have run off. That omelette looked really good.” Isak frowned at himself, confused at the need to apologise right here and now. But at least it changed the subject away from something that only accelerated his uncertainty. 

Even shrugged. “It's fine, I can make them again, it's no problem.” But despite the nonchalance, something in Isak's apology sparked pleasure in Even’s voice. 

Isak was nodding. Make them again? That sounded like plans for another shared meal, which meant maybe this wouldn't end terribly. 

Not knowing how to reply with anything other than trying to nail down a specific date and time for this event, Isak popped the piece of waffle—which had been held suspended on the end of his fork—into his mouth. Instantly, he made an embarrassing humming noise because it was fucking delicious and his body had no problem reacting honestly; story of Isak's  _ entire  _ week. 

“That bad?” Even asked, grinning from ear to ear. 

“Terrible,” he shot back, laughing softly himself. “Seriously though, it's damn good. What did you put in it?” Isak had obviously eaten waffles before, but these weren't normal waffles. 

Even hesitated, glancing at Isak before answering and focussing on his own food.  _ Was he blushing? _ “Salt, sugar, vanilla sugar, buttermilk, butter, eggs,” he paused licking his lips, his gaze snapped back up to Isak as he added the last ingredient, voice unsteady. “And cardamom.” 

Isak glaciated, but underneath that stillness his thoughts raced: 

_ Isak had said that cardamom was only to be used if you were flirting with someone.  _

_ They’d both laughed about it.  _

_ There had been no cardamom in the house.  _

_ Even would have had to go out and get that… in the night, or early morning.  _

_ That was intentional.  _

_ This must be intentional. It was too much to be chalked up to coincidence, even in Isak’s extreme state of denial.  _

_ Even was trying to flirt with him. _

_ Even was interested in him.  _

_ Fuck. _

Isak stood so suddenly from the table, he almost knocked over his chair. “I just need to,” he pointed at the sliding door to the balcony, “Some air.” He needed to breathe. He needed to stop the world from spinning. But he wanted nothing more than to go to Even, plop himself down into his lap and eat his face instead of breakfast. He just didn't know how to fucking do that—or if he should. They’d both dismissed the idea of kissing last week. So, instead he was walking away from Even.

_ Fucking typical, Isak. _

The cool steel of the balcony rail was beneath his hands and raindrops were falling on him enthusiastically, the brisk winter wind slapping him in the face. He was standing out in the rain because he had no idea what to do, or how to act. He'd panicked and now he was getting soaked. He was going to catch a cold and then he would’ve fucked up his studies this week.

Pressing his eyes closed and biting his lip, Isak willed himself to stop overthinking. It would do nothing for him. 

It dawned on him that by preparing for the worst, he'd also been imagining the easiest path. This was harder—much,  _ much  _ harder—than the rejection he’d been assuming. 

“Isak?” 

Isak let out the breath he didn’t know he’d been holding and simply nodded, like that was the correct response to his name being called. But he wouldn't ignore the relief that flooded him knowing that Even had followed him. He knew he shouldn't expect someone to run after him, but he couldn't deny wanting it. Even was being brave and fighting  _ his  _ nerves, despite how hard this must be for him too. They'd both been opposed to any emotional connection, for one reason or another. Isak was definitely feeling emotions, despite not being able to call them by a name. 

_ Be brave. Be brave. Be brave. _

“If you want I can give you your space,” he added when Isak didn't respond, but he was already shaking his head. 

Inhaling deeply, Isak tried to find his backbone. “I don't want you to go,” he said quietly, but judging by the sound of the door sliding shut and the footsteps making a slow path towards Isak, Even had heard. Two large hands leant against the rail, next to his own. Isak’s heart was beating in his throat. 

“What do you want me to do?” he asked. 

“I don't know,” Isak stammered. 

A puff of steamy air was expelled as Even huffed a laugh, Isak could see it in the corner of his eye as he studied Even’s hands. He just wanted those hands on him, but how did he ask? “I don't know either,” he paused before daring to add, “I'm scared.” 

Isak brows drew together in bewilderment.  _ Even was scared? _

_ “You're scared?” _ And he dared to look up at Even. Strands of hair were plastered to his forehead by the rain, and he was peering down at Isak. But it wasn't fair for him to be so goddamn good looking, despite being half soaked and after apparently not sleeping. 

He nodded. “This is all new for me.” 

Isak’s brain wanted to question that. What exactly was new? What did Even want from him? Did he even know? Should they talk about that before anything happened? That would probably be the sensible route. 

But his gaze got lost somewhere between Even’s eyes and mouth, darting from one to the other like it was the most beautiful purgatory. They were facing each other now, somehow turned, drawn to the other. Isak’s mouth threw the sensible map out the window.

“So—I just want to be clear—you weren't kidding when you said you'd never kissed anyone before?” Isak silently cussed at himself for the clumsy question, exposing exactly what was on his mind. 

Even shook his head before he spoke. But he was smiling—that was good. “No,” he admitted. And the nerves were there again, Isak could feel them in the vibrations of his tone. “I mean, unless you mean the little pecks you give your mum—or whatever,” he added, smile turning into a grin.

Isak couldn't help the nervous laughter that bubbled up from his chest. “No, not like that,” he paused, hesitating before he pushed on. “A-and, do you want to? With me?” He was sure he didn't need to specify, but something inside of Isak wanted to make doubly sure. Even nodded. “So, no pressure then.” Isak tried to make a joke of it, but he could feel little else but his own nerves, boiling underneath the mantle of his skin. He was shaking again—just like on the opera house roof. What if Even hated it? Isak wasn't even sure if  _ he  _ liked kissing. 

“Don't talk to me about pressure; you're a virgin.” Even’s freed hand reached towards Isak's, slowly lacing their fingers together. The contact made sure the comment wasn't taken as a jibe, just a fact. Perhaps it was one of the things that put Even on edge. Did he see Isak as pure? Or something he might spoil? 

The notion of this picture perfect human thinking  _ they _ might spoil  _ him _ would have made Isak laugh again if he wasn't so enamoured by what his eyes were glued to: his hand holding Even’s. And it was exactly how he imagined it to feel: warm and encompassing;  _ safety _ .

Isak chewed his lip, eyes travelling back up to Even’s face. By some freak of nature, he was still able to, not  _ only  _ talk, but talk calmly. “I guess so. Worst-case scenario we disappoint each other?” 

“No, worst-case scenario is one of us disappoints and the other doesn't.” 

_ Well that was certainly fucking true.  _

“Great. More pressure.” 

Now Even was laughing softly, the tensed energy slowly bleeding out of them both. His thumb stroked over Isak’s knuckles before he inched closer. Isak could feel him studying his face but he couldn't hold his gaze. Instead, Isak studied the thumb that seemed to be counting his knuckles—one by one—making sure they were all accounted for before retracing its steps and double checking. 

“There doesn't have to be pressure if there's no expectations. Just one step at a time: touching, lips close, and…  _ maybe  _ kissing—if it feels right.” And Even released the rail to skate his fingertips up and down Isak’s forearm in delicate patterns, exercising the first point on his list. 

Isak shuddered, the contact seemed to pull at fibers that ran all through his body. Even was a magnet and he was iron filings. Kissing had never sounded so complex and, at the same time, such a turn on; the way Even spoke so confidently about it, taking his time to caress each word… 

Christ, Isak wanted to kiss him. So fucking bad.  _ Maybe  _ was not a goddamn option. 

Taking another deep breath, Isak looked up at Even and found himself drowning in an affectionate study of his face. “I've never felt like this before,” he whispered so quietly that Isak could barely hear himself. He didn't want the world to be alerted to his admission and take it from him. 

“Me neither,” Even said. 

Lifting a hand, he traced Isak’s eyebrow with his index finger, before following his jaw, and the pad of his thumb began stroking timidly at the corner of Isak's mouth—just like yesterday. 

“I've never wanted anyone before,” he added, his focus entirely on Isak’s lips. The tip of Even’s tongue ran along his lower lip, before he drew it between his teeth. And the moment Even gathered enough courage was visible on his face; his lips parted, letting free a light exhale, as his thumb traced around Isak’s mouth… and then over his lips.

The motion set Isak’s skin on fire. He doubted all his memories of ever being kissed or touched because  _ nothing _ had ever felt like this. Every inch of him ached for Even, every single one of his nerves raw with need. Isak was breathing—because he had to fucking breathe—but it was laboured. He needed to touch Even. 

Inching forward, the space between them dwindled until the tips of their noses almost touched. Even’s hand hadn't left his face. Now their breath mingled between them, it was warm and humid and it didn't bother Isak in the slightest. He could taste the strawberries on Even’s breath and he was pretty sure that tasting anything from his mouth would improve the flavour immeasurably.

But that hypothesis would have to be tested.  _ Thoroughly _ . 

Reaching up, Isak’s fingertips glanced over Even’s hair, brushing a soaked strand back from his face. He hesitated for a heartbeat before allowing his fingers to comb through Even’s hair, so soft—where it wasn't damp—as it ran over his skin, carding deeply enough so that he could feel strands flow into the v between his fingers. Isak wondered how it was possible to want to touch every molecule of another person. 

He shifted his focus from his hand to Even’s face, eyes wide as he stared back at Isak, probably feeling the same awe that being touched like this was creating.

Even’s finger was flowing down his jaw again and Isak couldn't resist the urge to tilt it obediently, under the light pressure of the touch, forcing his lips to brush against Even’s. The breath Even drew in was unsteady, Isak could feel him tremble where his finger had stopped, at the point of Isak’s chin. 

“And I really want  _ you _ .” His lips ghosted over Isak's as he spoke softly. Despite his obvious apprehension showing in his actions, his words were firm. And Isak couldn't hold back the low, wordless plea that left his throat. Simple words had never turned him on so much, but there was no other way to phrase it: he was desirous for Even. He hadn't been able to escape him all week, in his mind and in his dreams. Now he was right here, body almost pressed to Isak's, and wanting to kiss him.

Isak realised his fingers were gripping the hair at Even’s nape as if he might run away. He wanted to replicate the words just said to him, but his mind was close to being unable to string together a thought, let alone verbalise a sentence. 

“Can I kiss you?” he whispered rapidly, a part of him still scared of the answer he'd hear.

But all he got in reply was a small, fond smile as Even’s hand flattened on his cheek. Isak didn't have time to breathe deeply before Even dipped his head, pushing his lips gently against Isak's. 

_ Even kissed him _ . 

All the remaining tension and unease flooded from him as the kiss landed. It was lingering and soft; it tasted like strawberries, cardamom, rain, and Even. It tasted exactly how it should, and its long awaited arrival had taken all Isak's strength. He found his fingers had been released and now his face was cradled in both Even’s hands. It was only that, and Isak’s double fisted grip on the front of Evens t-shirt, that was keeping him upright 

It seemed too quick when Even pulled back to take a breath, Isak looked up at him dazed and confused. 

“Why did you stop?” he asked quickly. 

Even shrugged. “I don't know if you like it.” He seemed to be engrossed with studying Isak's face, noting every small change that had occurred simply because they’d kissed. His fingers pushed damp hair from Isak's face before gliding down his sides and coming to rest on his waist. All Isak could do was gasp shallowly as Even’s hands made themselves at home on him.

“ _ Do you like it _ ?” Isak asked in a panic. He’d more than liked it, but this was the tip of the iceberg. He was desperate for more, but what about Even? 

“I do.” Even only had to mutter those two words, Isak was sure he’d been about to say something more, but talking could wait. 

His fingers were tangled in Even’s hair again as he pulled their mouths together. This time he closed the distance between their bodies too, pushing his chest against Even’s. 

There was a heartbeat of stillness before Even’s hands slid up Isak's back, pulling him closer. And Isak went, every muscle his palms travelled over seemed to give to his touch. Then he was tilting his head, mirroring Even, because Even seemed to know what he wanted, and right now that was tasting Isak. As soon as Isak's lips parted, Even’s tongue was there to meet his; it was soft, and warm, and wet, as they glided over the other, teasing one another. 

Someone flipped a switch somewhere, Isak didn’t know how it happened, but the moment that was slow, deliberate and languid quickly turned to something else. Perhaps it was Even, or maybe it was him—more than likely it was equal parts—but the tempo was spearheaded straight into the deep end. 

Suddenly, Isak’s gasps weren't quite so discreet, his only focus on moving his mouth against Even's, feeling those full lips on his, teeth grazing along his tongue and pulling at his lips. 

_ How had Even not done this before?  _

He was tempted to ask, because it seemed an impossibility with the level of technique being inflicted upon Isak right now, but he was more preoccupied with moving Even back to the doors; to the living room, the floor, or the sofa, or the kitchen fucking table. Hell, he didn't care if he ended up wearing breakfast as long as Even just didn't stop. He just needed a surface because his knees were weak. 

That and the rain; they were thoroughly soaked, and the thought of peeling Even’s clothes off his body forced a low moan from Isak’s lungs. Even stole that moan in his kiss, while letting himself be moved by Isak. 

He laughed softly into Isak's mouth. “You're a liar,” he murmured between kisses. Isak wanted to smirk at how obvious it was that Even was turned on from his tone alone: deep and gravelly. But the accusation took precedence—as well as the kissing.

“ _ What _ ?” he asked, reaching behind Even to pull open the door. He meant to say  _ what the fuck are you talking about? _ but there were only so many words Isak could get out between kisses, because those lips were waiting for him, as eager and willing as his own. And  _ so many words _ equated to exactly one right now. 

“You said kissing was dumb,” Even panted. 

“Just stop talking,” Isak said before using his mouth to steal the shocked laugh that jolted from Even, and pushing him back into the room. Obviously he’d been wrong, but did he need to point that out right now? 

Even stumbled over something, it could have been a shoe or misplaced book, but whatever it was, Isak was going to worship it because it sent Even sprawling backwards onto the floor and Isak went with him, the thick carpet cushioning their fall. Mostly. 

Grunting in surprise, Even was laughing again as Isak crawled over him before kissing up his neck, making a path to his mouth. He laughed a lot, and Isak loved the sound of it. He hoped he would hear that sound everyday, indefinitely. As long as the world allowed it. 

“Anyway,  _ you're _ the liar,” Isak murmured as his lips reached Even’s ear. 

“Why?” His fingers were raking through Isak's hair. There was genuine apprehension in his voice, fearful that Isak had dug up some malicious misgiving. 

“You said you hadn't kissed before.” 

“ _ I haven't _ ,” Even retorted, indignation lost amongst the breathlessness of the situation. 

“I don't believe you,” Isak snorted. 

Even cupped his face again, urging Isak to look at him. And Isak did, letting out a gentle groan as their eyes met; it  _ was _ Even beneath him, as frenzied as Isak, touching and kissing him. It was real. And, in this moment, Even was staring at him with an earnestness that made Isak's chest hurt. 

“It's just you.  _ Only  _ you.”  

Isak was frozen because the words just seemed so much more than what they were, and in a vague way Isak understood the gravity in them without knowing the details. The whirlwind of emotion was stirring in him, but they spelled out nothing clear. He could only understand the need to kiss and be kissed right now. 

Even’s lips parted on a thought, but that could wait, Isak decided. Everything could wait, until he was exhausted by Even’s mouth. That notion propelled Isak out of his stupor, falling forward to chase kisses that tasted like everything good in life. All the seasons wrapped up in his mouth, like Even was some fucking life giving god.

Maybe Even had been right about Isak being romantic, because the thoughts that were in his mind, as his tongue made itself at home within Even’s beautiful goddamn mouth, would have made him dry heave if he heard someone else saying those same things. 

“ _ Isak _ ,” Even murmured into his mouth. Had he ever realised how much his name sounded ridiculously hot coming from Even’s lips before? How much he loved the sound of it rolling from his tongue? “We should slow down, maybe.” 

He didn't sound sure, Isak would need a stronger reason than that to stop. The flood gates were wide open. “Why?” 

“We should talk about what we're doing, and…  _ things _ .” 

What they were doing? They were making out. What was there to talk about? He got it, Isak knew it was probably sensible, but for once he wasn't worrying about tomorrow, or an hour’s time. He was in this moment, this minute—no, second—and he wanted it to last. 

“We can talk later,” Isak offered. His lips on Even’s throat as he became braver, travelling over this perfect body and daring to mark it, pulling flesh into his mouth to suck. 

_ Love bites. _ Isak was giving Even love bites. Who the fuck would have seen this coming? 

“ _ Baby _ ,” Even moaned softly, still trying to argue his point but Isak could feel his focus waning. He should probably feel bad about that. But Even calling him that? Not baby bird— _ baby?  _ He dragged the word out like a caress… 

_ Fuck _ .

Isak pushed himself up, one hand on either side of Even’s face. “If you want me to stop, calling me that isn't gonna help.” He was panting, watching intently as Even bit on his lower lip, trying to hold back. The fact Isak could see the strain of that task did nothing for the rush of hormones flooding his body. 

Even’s hands came to rest on Isak's waist, as he straddled him. His thumbs stroked innocently at bare skin just above the waistband of Isak's jeans, but the touch made Isak's core clench and his lungs freeze before his body reacted on its own, hips tilting into Even’s palms and rolling against him. Air left his body in a soft groan.

Isak was hard. Even was hard. The revelation was a release on its own, because— _ thank fucking god _ —he was not the only one with a hard on now. 

Isak should have felt guilty when he saw the moment Even let go of whatever intentions he’d about being sensible and communicating. He  _ should _ have. But oxytocin was one hell of a drug… 

“ _ Fuck _ .” Even was less breathless and more  _ growly _ now—and with that observation Isak should have seen his next move coming. 

Instead, a shocked laugh forced itself from him as Even pushed up on an elbow, gripping Isak firmly before turning them both. Now he was on his back and Even was pressed to him, paying him back as he rolled his hips like Isak had. But  _ he  _ was laying between Isak’s legs now, and so the whole motion was completely unfair. 

It was unfair, but Isak wasn't complaining. His head dropped back, low noises of satisfaction vibrating from deep within him. Even’s mouth was on his throat now, marking him back. And all Isak could do was arch, and breathe, and moan, while his fingers sunk into soft hair. 

Having his fists full of Even’s hair was fulfilling and tantalising at the same time, it made Isak want for skin beneath his palms.

_ Fists full of Even. _

His fingers were gripping damp cotton before Isak realised he was tugging at Even’s clothes, yanking it up his body. With a little assistance, it was pulled over Even’s head and then it was somewhere else—it didn't matter where, just as long as it wasn't blocking his access of Even’s body. 

Eager fingers pushed his own shirt up, and then Even’s stomach was pressed to his—flesh on flesh—generating a warmth he'd been starved of. Material was left ruched high up on his chest, Even too keen to be stopped by clothing, and his lips began to work their way down Isak's stomach. 

Isak’s eyes fluttered closed as he let his fingers drift over Even’s smooth back and shoulders before the body that was on his edged out of reach. Isak knew what the intention was at this point, and he had no desire to stop Even. Maybe it was too fast—and Even was right—but Isak had issues grappling with time and propriety right now. There was just an overwhelming lust for intimacy with this human he'd managed to collide with and somehow connect to. He wanted it all, and all at once, now that he knew Even wanted him just the same. 

The need to stop didn't present itself when a noise sounded—muffled by desire and skin and kisses. Even ignored it too. But when the ringing noise repeated, Isak opened his eyes. The mouth that had been tasting his abs had paused. He looked down to find Even frowning at the door. 

“Who the fuck is that?” he asked no one in particular, but it was said like a challenge to the world. Who would fucking dare disturb them now they'd got to this point? And Isak agreed with that notion wholeheartedly. 

Propping himself up on a elbow, Isak brought his mouth closer to Even’s, guiding him back to focussing on kissing with his hand on Even’s cheek. 

“They'll go away,” he muttered quickly, trying to close the distance between their mouths. 

But, just to spite Isak, the world decided that it would burst his bubble of rare optimism. Even’s phone was ringing now. 

“For fucks sake,” Even huffed, pulling his phone from his pocket. He frowned at it before sliding a finger across the screen and pressing it to his ear. “Eskild? What's up?” His voice wasn't quite free of irritation and there was a pause on the other end. 

_ “....Everything OK, Even? You sound like you've been running.”  _

Isak's mouth was still on Even’s neck, not ready to stop touching him now that he was half naked and sprawled all over him. And he was close enough to hear Eskild’s voice through the phone. It was just like him to butt in at a moment like this. 

“I'm fine. Just busy. What's up?” Even was clipped in his words, evidently wanting to get off the phone because Isak was kissing over his chest and had just discovered his nipples were sensitive. He grinned at the small gasp Even didn't quite mask as his tongue swirled around it and it stiffened instantly against his lips. 

There was a long pause and another voice said something in the distance before Eskild spoke up. Was that Magnus? 

“ _ Are you home? We're at your place. Remember? We said ten?”  _

Isak stopped what he’d been doing—which was running his fingers around Even’s waistband while making his right nipple as hard as the left—and looked up to find Even staring wide eyed back at him. 

“ _ Fuck _ ,” he said, as much to Isak as to Eskild. “Fuck, I forgot.” 

Eskild’s sigh was loud enough for Isak to hear.  _ “So you're not home?” _

Isak could see Even thinking quickly. His car was outside. If he said he was out, Eskild would offer to wait until he was back because obviously that would mean he was local. Or he would say he'd call Isak to let him in. Either way, they were fucked. Isak sighed and fell backwards, nodding in silent agreement. 

“I'm home.” 

_ “Is the buzzer broken?”  _

“No,” Even replied too quickly and then cringed at himself. Obviously that had been them ringing the apartment.

_ “What were you up to then?”  _

Isak could have been in the next room and he would have heard the intrigue clear in Eskild’s voice. 

“Nothing, just busy doing… stuff.” Even shrugged at Isak, mouthing  _ what _ at him, when Isak rolled his eyes. It would look suspect as fuck. Before Eskild could ask anything else, Even plowed on. “I'll let you in.” Without waiting for a reply, he hung up. 

“Fuck. I forgot,” he repeated, sinking back to kneel as Isak pushed himself upright. 

“I got that much,” Isak mused, pulling his shirt down and enjoying the mournful look on Even’s face too much, before he promptly mirrored that exact expression as Even grabbed his t-shirt—it had landed on the sofa arm—and pulled it over his head. 

“I'm sorry,” he said, meaning every word. 

Isak licked his lips. “I guess you'll just have to make it up to me.” He was surprised at his ability to be so brazen. 

And Even was smirking at him, obviously he liked it. “You're so bossy already?” He chewed his lip, before moving closer to Isak. “Why do I like that?” he mused, his grin only widening. Isak didn't have a chance to answer, or point out that maybe Even shouldn't have told him that, because Even’s mouth was right there, an inch from his. The only thing his mouth wanted to do was attach itself to Even’s face. So, it did. 

This was a terrible idea because  _ apparently  _ neither of them possessed the ability to make it a light, casual caress; in a heartbeat hands were on Isak's face as he sunk slowly back onto the floor, Even’s weight rolling back over him. Here was more comfortable than his bed, Even was warmer than his blankets, and these kisses were more sustaining than breathing and eating combined.

_ Isak the goddamn romantic…  _

“I have to—” Isak was sure Even was about to say he had to let Eskild in before the delay was longer and, therefore, more likely to pique Eskild’s curiosity. And Isak agreed, despite his fingers not wanting to release their hold. 

But his hands flew away from Even as a loud banging came from the apartment door. The kiss breaking away felt as abrupt as a slap. 

“ _ Fuck _ .” It was Isak's turn to cuss.

“Someone must have let them in downstairs,” Even muttered as he pushed himself up, standing smoothly and holding a hand out for Isak. “This might be awkward,” he added. 

“No shit.” Isak didn't need him to specify that he meant what physical shape they were in: flushed, damp from the rain, and hard. “Fuck it, we'll just sit at the table… and it'll be fine.” 

Hopefully both Eskild and Magnus would have brought his constant claims that he had no interest in anyone whatsoever, and whatever blatant evidence was under their noses might be overlooked. 

Not that he cared if they knew—not really. But what about Even? Would he want this as a public knowledge  _ thing _ ? Was it just a  _ thing _ ? Fuck, they should have talked. Even had been the sensible party there and he'd completely railroaded this into a scenario that was just going to leave them both with blue balls and none the wiser.

_ Fucking smart, Isak. _

Yet, still, he didn't really feel any regrets. His lips felt kiss bruised and his neck probably had bruises, too… 

“Shit, can you see the marks?” he asked in a panic. Even smiled, pulling him up to his feet before giving his neck a once over and adjusting his t-shirt. 

“They're low enough to cover.” 

“What about you?” Isak hadn't been that smart; there was an enthusiastic line of love bites running from ear to collarbone on Even’s pale skin. He was trying to care about their cover not being blown but he felt proud more than anything else. His mouth had been right there, and there was proof. 

“It's not such a rare sight on me. You on the other hand… that would be something.” 

Isak nodded. It was true, they were all aware that Even did what he wanted. But Isak felt a sudden twist of jealousy that his love bites might be mistaken for someone else's. He realised he was frowning at Even, who was chewing his lip thoughtfully. 

“I'll put my hoodie on, that should cover them,” he said, seeming to understand Isak’s unspoken covetous notions. “But we have to let them in… unless you want to do a reveal and save us both beating around the bush.” He was snickering, so Isak had no clue whether he was joking or not. 

Blinking, he worked his mouth. “OK,” he managed to say. OK to what, he had no idea. 

Even waited a moment, maybe for Isak to elaborate, but when nothing was offered he strode to the door, grabbing the jumper hanging on the hook and pulled it over his head, yanking the hood up and the hem down. Looking over his shoulder, he gestured Isak to the table and Isak made short work of the prompt, throwing himself into his seat. 

Then the door was opened and Eskild burst into the room like a firework.

“Christ, how long does it take you to open the door?” He strode in, Magnus on his heels but occupied by his backpack. It was already unzipped and he was fishing his laptop out, taking absolutely no interest in his surroundings before flopping onto the sofa.

“Morning,” he added brightly, dividing a smile between Isak and Even, both sat at the table now. He gave the room a quick once over. “Nice apartment,” he added, before his focus was on the screen, now open and staring at him from his lap.

Where Magnus was completely oblivious, Eskild eyed the room and the two men sitting at the table like it was a crime scene and he was Poirot reincarnated. Isak fingered at his collar where it felt too warm and tight. 

He focussed intensely upon the food that had only had one bite taken from it. The waffle might be cool now but it still smelled amazing. Isak cut a piece off, he wouldn't waste it—not like the omelette. Plus, if his mouth was full it would give him time to answer whatever questions would inevitable come. 

Looking across the table, Isak caught Even smirking at him before he turned away, focussing on Eskild. 

“We were making breakfast,” Even said, gesturing to the table and taking a sip of orange juice. 

Eskild folded his arms. “Why are you both wet?” 

Isak tried to grapple for a reasonable excuse as to explain why they had been standing in a downpour. “I was just trying to show him how you find north using the constellations.” 

Glancing over his shoulder—simply to prove his obvious and imminent point—Eskild turned back to Isak with an expression of feigned confusion. “But it's daylight…” 

He rolled his eyes, sitting back in his chair. “I know  _ that _ , I was showing whereabouts they  _ would  _ be—if it  _ was  _ night.” It wasn’t the first time Isak had to concede that he was a fucking terrible liar. 

“And we didn't hear the door from out there,” Even added, looking almost bored as he forked some berries on to a slither of waffle, then it disappeared between his lips. A little bit of cream was left at the corner of his mouth and Isak imagined that it was bound to taste good. It was a waste that he couldn’t lick it off for Even. 

Isak forgot where he was for a moment before he felt Eskild sit at the table. 

“This looks cosy,” he stated. Isak had a feeling he wasn't done with his probing. “Daytime stargazing in the pouring rain and making waffles are quite the exercise, right Even? Sounded like you’d been marathon training when you answered.” And he had the most innocent expression on his face as he plucked a strawberry from the bowl of berries, Isak was convinced he knew something. 

Snorting a laugh, Even shook his head. “Everything has to be some great mystery to be solved, right Eskild? I ran to answer your phone call.” He pointed at his phone that was laid next to his place setting.

Eskild pursed his lips. “You can hear your phone ringing, but not the door buzzer? That's interesting…” 

Isak knew his face was on fire and that would probably give everything away. 

“Ours sometimes doesn't work at home,” Magnus mused, completely ignorant to what Eskild had been poking at as he remained absorbed at whatever was in front of him. “Like, there's a loose wire or something.” 

“That's probably it,” Even stated, happily refocusing on his breakfast, like nothing was amiss. How did he do that? 

Eskild’s mouth opened, probably about to refute a point, but Isak was done with the questioning. “I need to call Sana, we’re supposed to be meeting soon.” He stood from the table, pushing his chair in and grabbing his plate before moving towards the door—he wasn't going to let this food go to waste  _ or  _ have it end up inside Eskild’s stomach. Even had made it specially for  _ him _ . 

“You can call her in here, I can be quiet.” Eskild imitated zipping up his lips while pulling the bowl of berries towards him, this time plucking out a blueberry. Isak knew him well enough to see that he was simply not done poking around in their business. 

“My phone's on charge in my room—” The universe was driven to prove him a completely incompetent liar because—at that very moment—the sound of his message alert went off, and not in the direction of his room, or even in his pocket. It was coming from the sofa—the floor, to be exact—near Magnus’s foot. Somehow it had slipped from his pocket and half hidden itself under the sofa. Because  _ that  _ wasn't a major red flag. 

_ Fuck _ . 

Magnus was picking it up, looking confused. “Isn't this your phone?” 

Already striding across the room, Isak had decided he didn’t want to accrue any more rope to hang himself with. “Looks like it doesn't it,” he said, as flat as possible. Then he plucked it from Magnus's hand, turned and made a beeline for his room. 

“What was it doing on the—” Eskild began, Isak could tell he was currently trying to hide his snickering behind his hand. 

_ “Thank you, Magnus,”  _ Isak called out over the top of the incomplete question. He just wouldn't damn well answer, that was the safest option.

Closing the door behind him, Isak sighed. He placed the plate on his bedside table as he sank onto the bed, and opened his message. It was from Sana: 

_ Mum's gotta stay on shift longer. I'm studying in the car, meet me here or at home. I should be there by 12. I hope… :-/ hope everything is OK ;-P  _

Isak put the phone on the side. Was he OK? He hoped so—he  _ thought  _ so. But he wasn't entirely sure. Even had been so good at covering for them, maybe he really didn't want them to know. Maybe he wanted this to be a secret fling. Isak wasn't sure how he felt about that. But there was no point thinking about it until he knew for sure what Even wanted. What did  _ he  _ himself want? Isak had no idea what he could see past this passion he felt. Would it just be lust, falling away after their first encounter? 

Falling back onto the bed, Isak pushed those thoughts away. They weren't going to suddenly make sense because he worried about them more. 

So, he had a bit of time to play with? He could eat and shower and take his time… he could maybe try and relieve his blue ball status, Isak thought to himself with a smirk. At least his fantasies weren’t all that much out of reach now.  _ Hopefully _ .

And it was as if the kiss they’d shared had given Even mind reading abilities because Isak’s phone sounded again with a message:

_ Where did you go? You left me :’-( Eskild is asking about how to find north… I have no fucking clue and I feel like I'm giving you a bad astrological reputation…  _

Isak grinned. He hesitated before sending back his reply. Apparently he felt comfortable enough to be bold and honest with Even. It definitely wasn't meant to be teasing. He wouldn’t do that sort of thing… 

_ I've been a walking hard-on for a week. I need to handle business before dealing with anymore people today.  _

Putting the phone down, Isak didn't even have time to look for the roll of toilet paper he kept by his bed before he heard rapid footsteps coming down the hall. He frowned at his door when someone rapped against it with their knuckles. 

“Yeah?” 

Even’s head poked into the room. He frowned at Isak before looking over his shoulder and closing the door softly behind him. 

“ _ Handle business?”  _

Isak had picked up the toilet roll, so simply gestured at it in answer to the two word question. “You know…” 

“You can't do that while I'm out there… and I know what you're doing. That's not…  _ fair _ ,” he whispered, but his face was serious. 

Isak couldn't help but grin. “ _ You _ forgot we had Poirot and fucking…  _ Watson _ —or whatever—dropping by,” he shrugged, like that was a good enough reason to tease—not that that had been his intention. “I'm literally gonna explode otherwise…” 

But the thought was curiously hot, telling Even secret things when he was busy working—or whatever it was he did. 

Apart from the revelation of his studies, Isak still had no idea what he did outside of working on the new club. They should probably fix that soon. 

“Watson was Sherlock’s sidekick— _ Hastings _ is Poirot's, and you're not gonna explode,” Even snorted a soft laugh. 

Isak stared at him in disbelief. “Firstly, I don't actually care—that's not the point. Secondly, are you my balls’ spokesperson now?”

“I can be,” Even smirked, leaning against the door. 

“So, you’re saying I should just… walk around with aching balls all day?” Even nodded. “My balls want to fire you already,” Isak scoffed.

But Even was coming towards him now, and Isak tried to act casually but it was difficult when six-foot-something of attractiveness was stalking over, then sitting next to him, when they'd both just been candidly discussed the state of affairs of Isak's testicles. Jesus, what did Even see in him past the awkward fuck up that Isak self identified as?

“We'll be suffering together,” he said, nudging against Isak's shoulder before ducking his head and pushing a soft kiss to Isak's jaw.

“Don't start,” Isak shot him a warning look, but it softened instantly when his eyes landed on Even’s face. “Unless you want to watch?” Isak was now grinning despite the blush that crept up his neck because the suggestion made Even’s jaw drop. It hadn't been a serious idea but now Isak was re-considering that. 

“Why would you joke about something like that?” he whispered, his eyes on Isak's mouth. At least it was clear they were both as up for it as each other, it was just the intentions and emotions that Isak was unclear of. “I'm gonna have to walk back out there with a boner.” 

“I have enough tissue for us both,” Isak shot back. 

Even’s hand was on his neck before he could blink, pulling Isak towards him. “Fuck, you're dangerous.” His lips pushed the words against Isak's mouth. He pulled back from the kiss before it got too deep, Isak was both pleased and disappointed about that. He  _ really  _ couldn't afford to get anymore aroused. “Can you wait until we've had a chance to talk? Then I can start making things up to your balls…  _ hopefully _ .”

“I can wait,” Isak sighed, managing to repay the light kiss with another. How many hours until they had a chance to speak? And  _ hopefully _ ? What did that mean? 

“Thank you,” Even murmured. 

“I better get a cold shower,” he huffed. “And I guess you have stuff to talk about with those two. We don't want to get cross examined again.” 

Even hummed, but looked regretful at having to leave. “Do you really have to go meet Sana?” 

Isak nodded. 

“OK, well I'll let you know when the coast is clear. And if you're free, maybe you can come back?” 

Isak was finding it hard to string sentences together because he kept realising that this was actually happening and Even seemed almost as unsure or nervous as Isak felt.

“I will,” he committed, without needing to think the answer through. The only reason he was keen to be out of the house now was to get away from the questioning. They needed to talk first. 

“I can't wait,” Even said sincerely, his expression just as serious. He said it like it was the ultimate truth, emphasising the words. Isak could clearly see him imagining the time dissipating and them returning to this spot, or Even’s room, or  _ wherever _ . As long as it was just them. Alone with each other. 

Isak's mouth was dry. “Me too,” he whispered.

“Tell Sana I said hi.” His hand was warm as it landed softly on Isak's neck, pulling him closer before kissing him. It was a twin of their first kiss thirty minutes or so before: tender and slow. It left Isak breathless when Even pulled away and stood, and he found himself nodding, lost for words as Even’s kiss imprinted itself in his mind. He was determined to remember every single one. 

Even winked at him as he reached the door. “I'll see you in a minute.” 

Isak watched him slip out of the room, closing the door behind him gently. He continued to stare at the spot Even had been sitting in, trying to absorb every moment. This was not a dream. 

With a wistful sigh, he got up and grabbed some clothes, making short work of showering, dressing, and finishing his waffle. Then he was walking back into the living room, backpack on one shoulder, to find the three of them at the kitchen table pouring over a thick stack of papers. 

None of them took much notice of his entrance, except the quick glance Even shot him that was served with a private smile. Isak found himself blushing as he rinsed off his plate—it had taken him only three mouthfuls to finish breakfast in his room—before sliding it into an empty slot in the dishwasher. 

“Don't work too hard,” Isak muttered over his shoulder to the group as he wriggled his feet into his trainers. 

Both Magnus and Eskild were absorbed in what they were reading, the latter letting out a preoccupied hum. But Even was watching him again and Isak almost tripped over his own feet trying to get to the door. Why was it so hot Even just watching him like that? Maybe it was the secretive element. Whatever it was, it didn't prepare Isak for the silent air kiss that was sent his way. 

Unintentionally, Isak opened his mouth in surprise only to let slip a low, wordless, whimper. He quickly covered it with a cough when the extra two pairs of eyes in the room focussed on him, drawn by the strange noises he was making. 

“I said bye.  _ Christ _ ,” he grumbled. He hadn't actually said goodbye, but they didn't know that. 

“Make sure Sana gets the girls to the club on time tonight, and tell her to keep an eye on the pre party drinking. I had trouble vouching for them last time,” Eskild said, eyes returning to the document. The last sentence was uttered through a grin and Magnus shifted in his seat, suddenly looking uncomfortable. Isak wouldn't be surprised if Vilde had made a scene—her well meaning self did choose some badly timed moments to get her soapbox out. And when she was drunk…  

_ There was a party tonight? _ This was the first he'd heard of it and judging by the way Even had just planted his palm against his forehead he'd forgotten completely and was probably expected to show up.

“I will.” Isak replied, but he was distracted by his own thoughts. When would he and Even talk then? 

“Are you coming?” Magnus asked. 

Eskild snorted dismissively, assuming the answer would be a no, because this was Isak after all. Isak wasn't sure whether it was that or the unreadable expression Even wore that caused him to firm his jaw stubbornly. Didn't Even want him to go? Maybe he was trying to figure a way out of the forgotten plans? 

“Yeah, why not?” he found himself saying. Now he knew how the document felt as three pairs of eyes burrowed into him. “ _ What _ ?” he shrugged. 

“You're gonna come to the club?” Eskild asked in an accusatory fashion, before he glanced briefly at Even. 

“Why wouldn't I?” 

“It's just, you usually—you know— _ don't _ ,” Magnus said. Even’s face was still blank but Isak got the notion that he felt on edge. Why would he feel on edge? But he chose to stay quiet, not voicing what was on his mind. “It's not your favourite place,” Magnus added before rushing to cover himself. “Not that I don't— _ we _ don't want you there. It'll be fun.” He was grinning at Isak now, past the surprise and simply preempting the good times ahead tonight. It had been a while since Isak had had good times with his friends. 

“Sometimes it's good to do something different,” Isak mused before turning the handle of the front door. 

“We'll, I'm on shift so I'll keep an eye on you,” Eskild put in, winking at Isak. Isak would bet everything he owned that Eskild would watch him like a hawk.

“Sounds  _ awesome _ ,” Isak replied dryly. “Well, I'll see you later.” And he slipped out of the apartment, closing the door on Magnus and his excitement, Eskild and his curiosity, and Even and… what the fuck ever he'd been feeling. 

The whole interaction twisted his stomach unpleasantly for a reason he couldn't fathom and occupied his mind as he made his way to Sana.

* * *

Sana was scowling at him through the window. He hadn’t knocked  _ that  _ hard. She gestured to the passenger side and Isak made the journey to the other side of the parked car a swift one. Opening the door, he slid into the seat, trying to be as rapid as possible so he didn’t let all the heat out.

“Quick,  _ quick _ . It’s freezing,” she tsked. 

“Any quicker and I’d only have one arm,” Isak murmured, more to himself. Sana sniffed, clearly she’d heard the comment.

“You could have texted back so I could be prepared for you to hammer against the window like you intended to break in.”

Isak rubbed his hands together. “I didn’t knock  _ that  _ hard.” He was shifting around to get comfortable, thank god for the heated seats. His ass was already toastie warm, the same couldn’t be said for his toes.

“You try being in your own world  _ studying _ —in the peace and quiet—and have some idiot hit on the window right next to your ear— _ whilst _ being female  _ and  _ wearing hijab.” Her words were clipped and her posture stiffened. Isak felt a pang of guilt.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you.”

Sana scoffed as she frowned at him. “You didn’t scare me. My adrenaline has put me in fight mode.”

Isak held up his hands in surrender. “Don’t hurt me.” He tried his best wide eyes expression but her frown didn’t budge an inch. “OK, well at least target one of my frozen limbs, that way I won’t feel it so much.” He grinned at her.

Shaking her head, her lips quirked into a small smile. “Or aim for your head, that way I won’t do any damage.”

“Ouch,” Isak huffed, trying to look offended while laughing. “But really, I’m sorry. I was gonna reply but I was just thinking about…  _ stuff _ . I forgot.” And that was true, he was still preoccupied with picking apart what had happened this morning. His heart wanted to get carried away but his head was keeping him grounded by the worries that he had. 

The conclusion he’d arrived at was that he would need a binding contract in red bold letters before he felt secure in whatever the fuck was going on between him and Even. 

Humming, Sana began flicking through the book that she’d dropped in her lap when Isak had startled her. “Thinking? Sounds dangerous.”

The heating was cranked up to maximum and Isak was grateful for that, feeling was returning to his extremities. “It’s getting too cold for car studying,” he stated, not fully aware of the diversion technique he’d just used. It was just natural for him to slip away from the conversational spot light.

Sana didn’t miss it by the curious look she shot him. “You could have waited at the house, I did say. Or just met me there later.”

He was shaking his head. “I figured Yousef is probably still stressing out about cooking, and I’d probably get dragged in as an unwilling assistant. Then I’ll undoubtedly cause some catastrophe. Plus, I needed to get out of the apartment.” Sana opened her mouth to probably question if anything else had happened. Where they’d left off yesterday, Isak had been avoiding home because of Even. “ _ Not _ because of Even; Eskild is there—and Magnus.”

Unzipping his bag, Isak began to root around for his books. He would study whatever Sana had chosen, if they shared that module. His gaze skittered across to her lap, the book was open on a chapter about thermoelectrics. Perfect. 

_ “So?”  _ She impressed.

Isak looked up to find her staring impatiently at him. “So, what?”

“What happened? It’s not Even you’re avoiding, it’s Eskild?”

Isak sighed and relaxed back in the seat. “You know what he’s like, always interrogating and looking for… _ conspiracy theories _ .” He shrugged, trying to focus on the book he’d pulled out, but he felt like he was about to endure a similar interrogation. 

“What would he be asking questions about?”

“He was just suspicious because we took a while to answer the door. It’s nothing,” he added, but the way her smile was spreading meant she was probably imagining wild scenarios. She would be right, but Isak didn’t have to admit that. “We were  _ talking _ ,” he insisted. 

The book in her lap was closed again as she turned to him, excitement clear on her face. “Did you talk about it? What did he say? Does he like you?”

Isak held up a hand again, this time to slow the barrage of questions. “We hung out, like you said we should—last night.” She was nodding enthusiastically, and Isak took a deep breath. He wasn’t used to talking about this sort of thing to anyone. But if there was anyone he could be honest with, it was Sana. “It was really nice, I forgot to be nervous. There was  _ a moment _ and he… figured it out.”

_ “A moment?” _

Sighing, Isak prepared himself to unravel that intimate moment. The moment that he now knew Even had felt, too. “Yeah, we were on the opera house roof, and I had cream on my face—he’d brought hot chocolate to drink. He wiped it off, I kinda lost myself for a moment and it must have been pretty obvious. But then I freaked out and we went home and I didn’t know if he liked me—”

Sana was shaking her head and it stopped his tumble of blurted sentences. “Whose idea was it to go to the opera house?”

Blinking, Isak tried to figure out what angle she was coming at with the question. “His. Why?”

Rolling her eyes, she smiled that big beautiful smile, holding him with a knowing expression. “He took you to the opera house roof, at night—in the winter, with hot chocolate that he made and you didn’t know if he liked you?” 

Isak sputtered indignantly. “I don’t know, he’s a really nice guy—it might just be what he does.”

Shaking her head, her eyebrows rose as if to gesture him on. “And so you know now?”

He nodded, feeling heat creep into his cheeks and not from the aircon. “We—um,” he licked his lips, there was no other way than just to say it, so he did. “We kissed,” her jaw dropped in shock but he kept speaking, to try and override her reaction. “He likes me, but we didn't get a chance to talk because the buzzer went—Eskild and Magnus.” He made a hand gesture to say that was that, but Sana was smiling at him coyly. 

“So when you say you didn’t answer the door because you were  _ talking _ , you were in fact using your mouth for something else,” she snickered. 

He should have known better, she was always one to see inconsistencies in stories. “Well,  _ maybe _ . But the point is I’m not really sure what’s going on. So, I can’t even get happy about it. Not that I  _ should  _ get happy about it because it’ll only come crashing down in flames knowing my luck.”

Pushing against his shoulder with her hand, Sana snorted at his pessimism. “You can let yourself be happy, Isak. But you’re smart, so it’s understandable that you want to know what’s going on. Is he willing to talk about it?”

The red in his cheeks was all shame now. “He was actually keen to talk, I kinda  _ derailed  _ the situation,” he chewed on his lip, daring to look in her direction. Sana was studying her nails, wearing an amused expression. She got it, but she wasn’t about to ask for details there.

“That’s a good sign,” she added.

“It is, but then I said I was going to come tonight—to whatever Eskild has planned at the club—and he looked… I don’t know how he looked, but it wasn’t excitement. More dread, or something…” Isak trailed off. It still pulled at his gut in warning. 

Sana sighed, as she stared out of the window, silently puzzling the scenario. “Well, perhaps he’s nervous about being out in public—in front of your friends—when you don’t really know what you’re doing.”

That would make sense, Isak supposed. This was new for them both, treading unfamiliar territory together without having agreed any terms beforehand. Isak wasn’t sure how Even wanted to play it, and the same could be said the other way around. 

“I guess,” he mused.

“Plus the club is his territory, right? Maybe he’s worried you won’t like what you see in him there.”

Isak turned to frown at her. “You think he acts differently?”

“It’s not so much  _ that _ , it’s just—I don’t know.” She pursed her lips. “He’s gregarious, right? Maybe he’s worried you won’t like that in him in that kinda environment?” She shrugged.

Isak tried to consider that view. Watching Even greet and be friendly with lots of people Isak didn’t know when they still had no idea where they stood. Even talking to and entertaining people whereas Isak preferred to find a corner. She could be onto something. He could imagine feeling insecure watching it play out in front of him. He already knew Even was into no strings sex and flings, he’d probably start trying to figure out who might have slept with him. And then Isak would feel stupidly jealous. 

“I’ll play it cool,” he asserted, arguing with his own thoughts.

Sana smirked again. “I’m sure you will, and luckily you’ll have me watching over everything.”

It was Isak’s turn to snort. “Christ, Eskild said the same thing. Everyone is gonna be watching me.” The only person he wanted watching him was Even, and the thought of those blue eyes on him made him bite his lip. Maybe they could talk beforehand.

Pulling out his phone, Isak typed a quick message to Even.

_ You think you’ll be done soon? Maybe we could talk before tonight. _

“But,” Sana continued, leafing through the book again. “I’m glad you’ll be coming tonight. It should be fun. You know the theme?”

Isak shook his head. Theme? “There’s a theme?”

“Neon party. You can get ready with us, we have paints and accessories. We’ll make you look beautiful,” she cooed, reaching out to ruffle his hair. 

“Beautiful?  _ Sure _ ,” he snickered. But it would be a refreshing change to hang with the girls before going out. “Oh, Eskild told me to tell you to make sure everyone gets there on time, and to be easy with the pre party drinking.”

She shot him an unimpressed look. “Why does he think I’m in charge of that herd of hair and heels? I have no control over them when wine is involved.”

“Now you have an assistant; we can herd them together.” 

He had no idea how long Eskild, Magnus and Even would be talking shop. As if the power of thought prompted a response, his phone vibrated.

_ We’re not even half way through the contract. Eskild wants to go over every detail. Magnus said something about pizza later. Join? I don’t think this is gonna be over anytime soon :-( _

She opened her mouth about to retort, but instead sighed as she looked out of the windshield, towards the building they were parked in front of. It was plain, white and sprawling. Her mum had just exited from the main entrance, looking dead on her feet; another extended shift. 

“I guess we’ll carry on the studying at home,” she murmured. 

Isak climbed into the back seat, careful not to put his trainers on the interior. Sana tutted at him again, but she would tut at him anyway if he got out of the car only to get back in again; lose-lose. 

The door opened just as Isak was putting his seat belt on. 

“Isak, I’m going to have to start thinking about formally adopting you.” Sana’s mum gave him a warm, if weary, smile before settling in the seat and reaching across to pat Sana’s hand. “Thank you sweetheart, sorry I was long.”

“Don’t be silly,” Sana replied, starting the car. “You’re too good for them.” Isak was nodding in the back seat, it was a conversation he’d heard many times before and wholeheartedly agreed with. But carers were usually angels without wings. Sana’s mum was most definitely that. 

But she simply sighed, too exhausted for the debate. “Isak, it’s good you’re here. You can give Yousef a hand.” Through the gap in the front seats she passed him a piece of paper. Isak frowned at it as she went on. “It’s my recipe,” she stated and Sana snorted a laugh.

_ “You gave in?” _ Sana sounded incredulous.

“I felt guilty,” she explained. “He’s been working so hard to figure it out and I think it’s all to curry favour. I can at least show my appreciation… plus I want to be able to  _ actually  _ eat tonight—after a good sleep.”

“Aw, mummy,” Sana cooed sweetly.

Isak was scanning the list; it made little to no sense to him but he supposed Yousef would be over the moon. Folding it in half, he went to put it in his pocket when something caught his eye. 

The paper that had been used was a piece of scrap, on it was a schedule: which nurses attended which room that shift. This was not out of the norm, Isak had seen many similar schedules in the car, or at their home. But what did jump out was a name:

_ Room 2: H. Bech Næsheim _

Isak frowned at the name. The letter he’d seen for Even the other week had been from here, the one where he’d recognised the symbol on the envelope.  _ That  _ was Even’s surname. Did Even had a relative at the hospice? It was too much to be a coincidence. God, he really needed to get to know Even better. It couldn’t be his parents because they were dead. But he was receiving mail for whoever this was, so they must be a close relative. Was Even the main contact?

_ “Isak?” _

Blinking back to reality, Isak shoved the paper in his pocket. “What?”

Sana sighed. “What time did Eskild say?”

“He didn’t.”

Now she was snickering. “Be there on time but I’m not gonna tell you a time? Typical Eskild. OK, well I guess we have a busy day.”

Isak hummed in confirmation before studying Even’s text again. There was a lot going on, and a lot that he didn’t know. It made him feel uneasy. Not least coming across information that he probably shouldn’t know. Even was a private guy. 

_ I’ve just been roped into cheffing duty and assisting Sana control her hoes… AKA the girls. I think I’m going to be busy as well :-( _

Isak pressed send and then watched the small dots do a mini Mexican wave as Even wrote back.

_ Just don’t use the cardamom ;-) _

He grinned. Was that a hint at exclusivity?

_ I won’t. I’ll see you at the club. We can talk tomorrow?  _

The reply was instant.

_ Sure. I can’t wait to see you ;-* _

Isak couldn’t help the satisfied sigh that slipped from his lips, he was smiling and he couldn’t stop it.

The dry heaving noise that Sana made snapped him out of his reverie. “I guess I’m gonna have to get used to that dopey little smile you’re gonna be wearing, huh?” She asked.

Her mum looked back at Isak in confused scrutiny.

“Shouldn’t you be watching the road?” he hit back at Sana, trying to ignore the searching gaze now aimed at.

“I can see you in here.” She tapped the rearview mirror with a long, black nail. 

“What’s this? Isak, do you have a boyfriend?” her mum asked, as astute as ever and a genuine smile blooming on her face, it made Isak feel weirdly content. She was happy for him.

“No,” he spluttered.

And, at the same time, Sana emphatically said “Yes.”

He sighed, sinking back into his seat while excited talk exploded around him. It seemed they were happy about this, maybe it was OK for him to be happy about it, too. 

###  Even

“I feel like we've gone over it enough now,” Even offered, sliding back in his chair. They had scoured it three times but Eskild seemed adamant that nothing slip past them. 

“None of us are actual lawyers,” Magnus put in, arms crossed over his chest. “If you think we should be that thorough, we could ask Sana's brother? I think he's a lawyer… or, you know, in the courts, or something.” 

Eskild shot him an amused look.  _ “In the courts or something _ ?” 

Shrugging, Magnus looked more tired than anything else. Even could relate; this was draining work, and far from exciting. And he was finding it hard to focus for Isak related reasons. Time had been passing like normal, up until last night when he'd been restless in bed and an overwhelming urge came over him to tell Isak everything, imminently. He'd tried—really,  _ really,  _ hard—but Isak had felt so good. His mouth and hands, the noises he made when Even touched him… 

“ _ Even _ ?” His name was sighed in exasperation. And just like that, he'd proven his own point. He could not focus, not with these new found emotions buzzing in him.

“It's just like any other lease I've seen, I can't see anything out of place,” he said, assuming they were still debating the papers spread on the table. 

They both stared at him for a moment before Eskild spoke. “We already decided to call it quits. What do you want on your pizza?” 

“Oh,” he said, feeling a little dumb, before shrugging. “Whatever you're having. I'm not that hungry.” 

Magnus had his phone out, probably in the process of ordering, and seemingly accepting of Even’s request. Eskild, on the other hand, looked sceptical.

“We have a long night, you should line your stomach.” 

Even gave him a sidelong look. “It's not long past midday, I have a while to eat. And I  _ just  _ had breakfast.” It was a couple of hours ago now but he never usually had a huge appetite.

“Did I mention how cosy it all looked?” Eskild asked with a coy smile.

Even sighed. There was no leading him away from the subject, he was as persistent as dog with a bone. “You did, a few times,” he muttered. 

Eskild opened his mouth to probably push the point further, but Magnus spoke up. The way he was absorbed in his phone belied his question. 

“So, how do you know this guy? You mentioned something about a client?” he asked, pointing at the lease agreement. 

Even exchanged a quick look with Eskild before Magnus jabbed the screen one last time and placed the phone on the table, a patient expression on his face. 

“Yeah, he's a client of mine,” Even admitted, hoping that would be enough. He had no shame in it, but he'd prefer to be having this conversation with Isak before anyone else. 

“Yeah but for what? I don't really know what else you do… I figured, as it's something to do with all this, I should probably know.” Magnus pushed the point. And he was right, there was only a matter of time until this came up. 

“I have clients that pay me for my company,” Even stated, picking up his mug of coffee as nonchalantly as he could muster. 

Magnus continued to stare at him until the penny dropped. “Do you, like… do you fuck them?” 

“Sometimes,” he shrugged as Eskild was shaking his head.

“So… you're… a  _ prostitute _ ?” He asked the question with no malice, just a general lack of tact. Which was quintessentially Magnus. Just as Even snorted in surprise, Eskild guided a swift hand to slap at the back of Magnus's head. “Ouch, what the fuck man?” 

“You can't just go around asking people if they’re a prostitute.” Eskild reprimanded, but he looked uncomfortable himself, never having addressed the point head on. It had been unnecessary, Eskild had got what Even was about without needing the details—or any terms.

“I don't know. What am I supposed to say?” Magnus asked, spluttering in defensive.

Even was trying not to laugh. “It doesn't bother me. Prostitute, whore, slut,” he shrugged. “I've heard them all and worse.” 

Licking his lips, Magnus was very obviously looking for the safe footing around the subject and to save himself another slap. “So… What would  _ you  _ say it is?” 

“I don't know if I’ve ever given it a title; I do what I want and I get paid for it? That's all that matters to me,” Even replied. It was true, he didn't think of himself in any other way than as himself, or Romeo. Either way, all very much human and simply trying to survive. 

Magnus was lost in thought before wrapping his head around what Even was saying. “That actually sounds pretty cool. Can anyone do it?” Even couldn't help the laughter spilling out of him this time.

“Oh, for fucks sake, Mags.” Eskild sighed. 

“ _ What?  _ It sounds pretty awesome.” 

“I'm sure that Vilde won't agree,” Eskild mused before pulling a considering expression. “Actually, she might very well be your pimp.” 

The way Magnus seemed to accept this notion wasn't something Even expected, and it didn't help his fit of laughter. Magnus would be OK with his girlfriend pimping him out? The visuals that the notion prompted made Even long for mind bleach to be an actual thing. 

“That could be interesting,” Magnus mused, he was still daydreaming.

Even shook his head. “It's not all fun and games,” he added. And it wasn't, or maybe it  _ had  _ been. Now it was complicated. Could he carry on with it now? Would Isak expect him to stop? This was all frightfully new territory and he didn't even have a compass. 

“And you have men and women clients?” Magnus pushed. But that was no big deal to Even either. He just nodded. “And you fuck and get fucked?” By this point Eskild was cradling his head in his hand groaning. 

“Sometimes there's no fucking at all,” Even smirked as he watched Magnus turn that over, trying to pick apart what was meant. 

But something seemed to register in his face, like he'd forgotten something. Even hoped it was a change of subject before Eskild heaved Magnus to the bathroom to wash his mouth out with soap. 

“That reminds me, I've been meaning to ask something but I didn't know how,” he said, looking at both Even and Eskild now. He looked trepidation, so for Magnus this must be one hell of a question.

“Ask, but be warned. I may rescind your right to ask questions without it going through a strict filtering process first,” Eskild told him in a pained voice. 

“I was just wondering if being fucked hurts. You know—in the ass.” Magnus said unabashed. Even found himself laughing again as Eskild slapped the table top, looking nothing but stern before setting him straight

“That's it, you've maxed out on questions. Unless you're looking for advice, there's no reason for you to be that—” 

“I  _ am _ ,” Magnus said simply. 

Eskild paused a moment while Even watched on completely entertained. This was better than any Netflix show. “What are you talking about?” 

Shrugging, Magnus looked like he was struggling to find the words to explain. “We were talking about butt play, you know.”

Eskild made a show of shuddering before nodding. “You and Vilde, yes. And so?” 

“She wants to fuck me.” 

This wasn't the change of subject Even had imagined but he wasn't complaining. He did need to control his mirth though, it wasn't right for him to find this amusing. Not openly in any case. 

With a small amount of effort he smoothed his features to carry on where Eskild had stopped because he was staring blankly at Magnus. 

“And you want to?” he asked carefully. 

Magnus shrugged. “Why not? Waste of a prostate not to poke at it.” 

“I guess that's one way of looking at it,” Even replied. What could he say? “And no it doesn't hurt if you do it right. Well, unless you  _ want _ it to hurt.” 

He was shaking his head vehemently. “No, I don't want it to hurt.” 

“Don't piss Vilde off first then, that would be my advice,” Eskild snorted. Even nudged him with his shoulder; they were his friends, they should give better advice than flippancy.

“Seriously, start off small and take your time. Graduate slowly—you can find loads of toys before you get to strap-on status. I'll send you links to some sites.” Even shrugged, he'd never had to explain it before. “And use tonnes of lube. Like, you can never have enough lube.” 

Magnus was nodding, taking detailed mental notes judging by his wide eyed expression. Then his gaze softened but stayed fixed on Even, and Even began to fidget uncomfortably in his seat. “You’d make such a good boyfriend. Why aren’t you in a relationship?” he stated, like he was thinking out loud. Even shrugged at the question, feeling heat in his face.

“Who’s to say he isn’t?” Eskild mused with a smirk, gaining him both Even’s and Magnus’s attention. But before the statement could be questioned by a now curious looking Magnus, he carried on. “Oh, and you're gonna have to acquaint yourself with enemas.” He finally put forward some useful information,  _ and  _ took the focus off Even at the same time. 

“ _ Emma _ ? _ From the club?”  _

“ _ Enemas,”  _ he corrected slowly, like he was talking to a five year old. “Anal douche; a spa day for your ass,” Eskild said with a sweet smile while Even snorted on his coffee. It was cold anyway. 

“It sounds complicated,” Magnus was frowning. 

Eskild shook his head. “Not really. Lin had a…  _ cap thingy _ she used as contraception and that bitch was more complex to prep for fucking than douching. It's just getting used to it. What Even said is a good starting point,” he shot Even a grin. “He'll probably be taking his own advice soon.” 

This time Even was choking on thin air and Magnus looked even more confused, his mouth open and about to probe—no doubt—when the buzzer sounded. 

“Pizza,” Magnus exclaimed, looking across at them expectantly. When neither Even nor Eskild made a move to go, Magnus sighed and stood. 

“It was your idea, sweetheart,” Eskild called after him as he answered the intercom, before turning to flip off Eskild and slip through to the stairwell. 

Even knew what was coming before Eskild had turned to him. “We don't have much time, what happened? That door buzzer is fully functioning, selling me some shitty story about it being broken,” he snorted dismissively while arranging the paper on the table into a neat stack, his eyes never leaving Even. 

“It was you that said it was broken, Magnus said it might be wires. I said we didn’t hear it,” Even corrected.

“Which we’ve already proven to be bullshit. Get on with it,” he shot back.

Sighing, Even tried to figure out what he should or shouldn't say. It felt traitorous to be sharing this with Eskild, at least not without speaking to Isak first. But he'd already confided in Eskild without really knowing, to the point  _ he'd  _ been aware what was happening before Even was. 

He cleared his throat, moving forward to lean his elbows on the table. “You already knew what was going on, I'm sure you don't need me to spell it out,” he answered in an obtuse manner, his voice low. 

But Eskild’s eyes lit up nonetheless. “No, I need details.  _ Fuck _ , I wish I could have seen this coming so I could claim that it was a masterplan. Wait—forget I said that. This  _ was  _ my masterplan. I knew this would happen, I am your fairy godmother.” He made a flourishing gesture with the words before resting his chin in his hands and staring at Even expectantly. “So…” 

“Don't get ahead of yourself, we just— _ I _ only just figured it out. We didn't even get to talk.” A lot had happened and he was trying to catch up himself. He'd actually kissed someone. Not someone, Isak. He’d kissed Isak and it had felt amazing. Sharing himself that way had always felt daunting, but today everything had felt right; they seemed to blur into one another, like a harmony. 

Before today, arousal was something completely within Even’s control. Or, more accurately, Romeo's. If someone needed to see him aroused, that's what he would be. And, of course, he jerked off, but his mind was usually a blank screen when he did. It was something done to enjoy the sensation rather than envision or imagine anything. It was atypical, he knew that, but a lot of things about him  _ were  _ atypical. 

Today—knowing how Isak felt combined with his newly realised desires—he found himself turned on just by Isak being close. When he'd looked up at him in the rain, lost and overcome with need, Even had almost lost his mind. 

And then the noises Isak had made, and the feel of his body reacting to Even’s fingertips… it was intoxicating in a way he hadn't experienced before. He'd felt torn between devouring Isak, and letting Isak put his mouth on him. Anywhere, Even didn't care where. 

“So, if you weren't talking what were you doing? Those waffles were not fresh off the press,” he trailed off smirking, before turning to pointedly stare at the spot on the floor where Isak's phone had been found, and then back at Even. 

“You have a vivid imagination, Eskild. I'll let you join the dots,” Even said. He was trying to be vague, but for once was bursting to tell someone about what was happening inside him. He needed to say it aloud so it could cement itself to reality and so he might figure out exactly how he felt. The only thing for sure was his need for Isak, and in more than a sexual way. Even craved the way he felt when he was with Isak. 

“So you told him?” 

Eskild sighed when Even didn't answer straight away, and his shoulders dropped in defeat. “I meant to, it was the first thing I wanted to say once I’d let him know that I like him. But then we were kissing and…” Even trailed off, focusing on the cold mug in front of him because he didn't want to start thinking about the way it had felt to have Isak's soft lips claiming him. Not while Eskild was in the room.

“You  _ have  _ to tell him, before anything else happens. Otherwise it'll get harder and harder…” And he couldn't help but smirk at his own words. “Like I'm sure other things are getting around here.” 

Even found himself laughing at Eskild’s predictably dirty mind. But it was a sip of relief before nerves enveloped him again. He'd been on edge when Isak had said he was coming tonight because he was apprehensive about someone who knows Romeo being there—it was a very likely scenario. He wasn't sure how Isak would react in that situation and Even didn't want his opinion of him to be soiled because he assumed Even was holding back purposefully.

Just imagining the scenario made his stomach turn again. Even had never cared how someone saw him. Up until now. 

“I'm going to tell him, we just won't have time until tomorrow.” 

Eskild stared at him a long moment before speaking. “I'll keep an eye out at the club for any potential issues, but try and control yourself tonight.” 

Nodding, Even didn't see anything to argue against. But he always controlled himself, so that shouldn't be a problem. Before he could respond, the door swung open and Magnus walked in holding three pizzas. Evidently he  _ hadn't  _ listened as closely as Even had thought. 

“Who's controlling themselves?” he asked, dropping the boxes on the table. 

“Your significant other hopefully,” Eskild mused, flipping open the lid of the topmost box. “No flashing tonight,” he added, grabbing a slice. 

“I don't think there's any controlling her,” Magnus muttered, but he had that moon-eyed look on his face whenever he spoke about her. 

It was cute, Even admitted. Not as cute as Isak, though… 

“We'll see how well that argument holds up with the police,” Eskild snickered. 

Even reached for a slice of his own but he really wasn't hungry. Eskild had brought up all the worries that had been put on hold by talking business. Now he felt on a cliff edge, waiting for the ground to fall out from beneath him or his fingers to loose grasp of the ground he clung to. 

He didn't want the club tonight. He didn't want company, other than Isak. But right now he wasn't going to get his way, sulking would do no good. Nor would worrying. 

Standing from the table, he made his way to the fridge. “I think it’s happy hour somewhere, right Eskild?”

Eskild was back to observing him with a serious expression. “Probably, I’ll have whatever you’re having. But remember:  _ control _ .” He emphasised the last point enough to bring around Magnus’s attention and curiosity; he wasn’t quite so unaware as he seemed.

Snorting, Even shot a withered look over his shoulder at Eskild while grabbing some beers. “I’m always in control.”

* * *

As it turned out, perhaps Even wasn’t always in control. 

Things had been fine to a point; they’d gone over some more plans and finalised some details, the lease had been signed and so now they had an opening date to work towards: the new year. 

Things were starting to happen. This was a definite positive, but Even had so much swirling inside—both his head and the rest of his body—that he hadn’t bothered to eat. The more he drank, the less he was thinking about his stomach, or thinking straight for that matter.

They’d arrived at the club on time, and he’d been sober enough at that point to help decorate and put out neon face painting pens, sweat bands and glow in the dark condoms, as well as stocking the bar with luminous shot glasses and straws. Even had never seen so many jelly shots in his life, and they came in these crazy test tube containers— they tasted OK, too. But it did look goddamn awful, like someone had gorged themselves at a buffet of UV and neon colours and promptly vomited everywhere—but this was the aim, according to Eskild.

It wasn’t until he was leaning against the bar, with Emma refilling his glass, that he realised, firstly, that the room was starting to spin, and, secondly, he wasn’t an actual paid employee of this particular club, nor was he a shareholder. How the fuck had Eskild roped him into this? 

That was besides the point now, he supposed. The work had already been done, and his glass kept being filled, or his beer swapped out, without him asking— _ and _ completely free of charge. So, he guessed he’d broken even. 

Emma threw him a luminous yellow headband with this drink, and Even decided he may as well look the part so he put it on. That would be the limit of his efforts. 

People were filtering through now, the music was picking up, but all Even could do was watch and wait. He wasn’t sure how long it would take for Isak to arrive with the girls, and he also wasn’t sure what the etiquette was in regards to texting. Could he just text Isak and ask him how long he would be? Or would that be too pushy?

His phone vibrated in his pocket, so Even pulled it out eagerly only to sigh in disappointment when he saw the screen. It was his business line, the potential new client—that was probably not a potential anymore—was still eager. Even would have to put a full stop to it, he didn’t want to waste this guy’s time.

He was just about to reply when someone sidled up to him.

“ _ Romeo _ ,” a cheery voice exclaimed, loud above the music, and Even froze.

Turning to the newcomer, Even tried not to grimace. He knew it was bound to happen; it was payday guy. Luckily, it wasn’t payday.

“Hi,” he said curtly. He didn’t want to be rude but he wasn’t about to give the illusion his time was for free, not for a client—especially not now.

“It’s good to see you,” he said. 

The man was still suited up from the blue chip job he worked, because business didn’t stop on the weekends—Even had heard this countless times from the guy. His tie was loosened but that was about the only relaxed thing about him. His dark hair was gelled back from his face and he always looked fidgety. To punctuate Even’s observation, he ran a stubby finger around the neck of his collar.

He wasn’t a bad guy, he wasn’t necessarily a bad looking guy, but to Even there was absolutely nothing remarkable about him. That didn’t matter so much when he was a client, Romeo wasn’t fussed about that, he got his money at the end. But Even could be on the other side of the club from payday guy and it still wouldn’t be far enough. That was probably less to do with his personality and more to do with the situation Even currently found himself in, with the only thought on his mind being Isak.

_ How did you tell someone to fuck off without explicitly saying fuck off? _

Even nodded. “It’s not that time of the month is it? Or did you get a bonus?” he quirked his eyebrows to soften what was a more than blunt remark. Would the guy get the hint?

“Hey, it doesn’t always have to be business does it?”

Even shrugged apologetically. “I have very strict rules; no fraternizing with clients outside of appointments,” he gave the guy a smile. Hopefully that would be enough. 

But he moved closer to the bar instead. “Come on, can’t I buy you a drink?”

Usually Even would be gracious, flirt and talk, he would keep it short and sweet, always make a tantalising show to keep the client interested. Tonight he was a different beast. 

“I’m actually fine, thank you. They are keeping me topped up.” He nodded at the barmaid, and Emma gave a wink back from the other end of the bar.

There was a silence as Even stared at his drink, willing the guy to just go. But all that happened was payday guy cleared his throat. “So, have you been busy?”

“No busier than usual.” He could hear the boredom in his own voice, his eyes were darting around the room. Even couldn’t possibly be any less interested. 

“I have tickets to a cheese festival next week, I was wondering if you wanted—” 

Even’s patience snapped. “I don’t mean to be rude.” By which he meant he gave absolutely no fucks. “I’m actually waiting for someone, and I don’t want them to arrive and find me talking to someone else. If you make an appointment, then we can talk.” His smile was mechanical and he locked eyes with the guy. That was surely straightforward enough. _ A cheese festival? _ Who the fuck asks someone to go to a cheese festival?

To Even’s relief, the guy took a step back, nodding and returning a crooked and awkward smile to Even. “Sure, sorry. I didn’t mean to… I’ll text.”

He didn’t want to bother with pleasantries at the statement, Even just continued to watch as the guy backed up. “In which case, I’ll speak to you soon.” Or maybe not. It seemed Even was reaching his limit with this lifestyle. 

Pushing the client from his mind, Even turned back to his drink and downed it. As soon as the glass was on the bar surface, another one was set down for him by Emma’s dainty hand. 

_ Should he drink anymore? _

The question soon faded as Even found his hand wrapped around the cool glass, drinking  _ whatever this was _ like it was water. He thought it might be rum and coke with a lime twist, but he was losing track of what he’d been ordering and his taste buds weren’t working so well now. Combined with the buzz of the music and the strobing lights, it was hard to focus on any one thing. All he knew was, it was definitely alcohol. 

But he was still quite sure he was in control. It was going to be fine, even if someone else approached him again, he could do what he just did and everything would be OK. It  _ would _ .

Even smiled to himself, before stumbling because—for whatever reason—the floor moved beneath his feet. He should probably tell Eskild about that. Turning to Emma he opened his mouth, about to ask where Eskild was, when words died in his mouth.

There was a flurry of bright pink feathers and heels that should never have been made in those shades at the entrance, with a bit of squawking thrown into the mix, as in poured the girls, flanked by Sana and Isak.

Forgetting to breathe, Even just watched as Isak grinned while Sana whispered something into his ear. They’d all decided on facepaints and sweat bands in varying colours, luminescent bracelets were stacked on their arms. It looked like Eskild was determined to get rid of all ten thousand tonight. 

Even was grinning simply because he could see Isak, and Isak was smiling. Everything was OK if Isak was smiling. He’d chosen pink paint, and simply put two streaks on either cheek and it looked cute.  _ Stupidly  _ cute. 

A snort of laughter left him when his eyes dropped to the t-shirt Isak wore. It was black with a familiar image on the front: a shot of Tupac from the  _ R U Still Down? _ album cover. 

_ So he was switching sides now? _

Isak’s eyes scanned the room before he found Even. And Even realised his heart was in his mouth, perhaps his stomach too. He couldn’t help but wink back before noticing that Isak wasn’t the only one looking in his direction. Sana was smirking at him. 

_ What did she know? _

He was about to push himself away from the bar and make his way over and then… he wasn’t sure what he intended to do once he’d crossed the floor to Isak, but he was sure things would just fall into place.

But his plans were disrupted when someone pushed against his shoulder. It wasn't a hard nudge but, given that the floor kept moving, it was enough to make him stumble again. 

“Jesus, how much have you drank, Even?” Eskild was leaning over the bar, peering at him in concern. “This wasn’t a part of the plan,” he added, eyes darting towards Isak and looking apprehensive.

“I don’t know, Emma kept offering and… I have no idea what I’m even drinking right now.”

Eskild rolled his eyes. “She’s probably under the impression you can hold your liquor.”

Snorting indignantly, Even cocked his head to one side, unamused by the statement. “I can hold my liquor,” he rebuffed. 

Eskild stared him down, utterly unimpressed. “ _ Sure _ , just don’t do anything stupid. I didn’t think I would  _ ever  _ need to tell you that,” he mused to himself. 

“I won’t,” Even muttered, taking another long sip from his drink. Eskild watched him, arching an eyebrow. 

“I saw you had company,” he said casually, whilst reaching down to grab a beer from a fridge. He pulled the cap off with an opener on his keychain before taking a drink. 

Even cast a look over his shoulder to where Isak was surrounded by the girls, he was being pulled around on the dance floor, looking like the centre of some feminine ritual. He was laughing now and Even strained his ears to hear it over the music. He  _ should  _ be closer. 

Then Isak looked over at him again, and Even’s heart skipped a beat. Why did his body react to these small things that Isak did? No one had ever had this power over him.

“Any issues?”

Even shook his head. “Nothing I can’t handle,” he replied, turning back to Eskild.

Eskild tutted. “You would think they would keep their distance when you’re doing your own thing. There are unwritten rules.” He sounded vexxed on Even’s behalf. Even agreed mostly, but human nature was just that. And sex was one thing that made you act like a fool, some people found it hard to see the business boundaries in the arrangements they had with him. It was part of the deal for him to keep reinforcing them.

Again, he realised he was really fucking tired of that bullshit. “Maybe I won’t have to worry about it much anymore,” Even mumbled. He was surprised at his own words, it was intended to be a thought but it slipped out. 

Eskild snorted mid sip before coughing, his face screwed up in discomfort. “Fuck, it hurts snorting beer.  _ What the fuck, man? _ Are you gonna quit?”

Shrugging, Even tried not to grin at Eskild’s pain. “I have to at some point, it’s not a lifelong career. With the club and my other projects, it’s busy. Something has to give.”

Eskild was staring at him again. “That’s bullshit, you know what this is.”

“ _ What _ ?” Even aimed a blank look in his direction, unsure as to what the statement was implying, but Eskild was just shaking his head.

“You. Isak. That’s what  _ this  _ is. I’m not saying it’s a bad thing—I think it’s amazing—just fucking realise it. This is…  _ something _ kinda big. Don’t fuck it up, chill tonight, maybe go home now, and talk tomorrow.” He urged the point, both full of hope and concern. 

Even was stuck to the spot with Eskild’s words percolating through him. It  _ was  _ something big. Isak was changing him, Isak meant something to him, and Even didn’t want to be without him. Maybe his advice about going home was wise. He couldn’t cope here in this environment, where too many things could happen and fuck it all up. He wasn’t in control here, he was beginning to see that.

Nodding, Even decided he would finish up his drink and go. “I think you’re right,” he admitted numbly. “I’ll get a taxi.”

Eskild let out a sigh of relief. “I can get you one.” Just then, Emma called out from the other end of the bar, gesturing at a beer tap. “Great. I need to go change the barrel. Just hold on.” 

He watched as Eskild disappeared through the door at the back of the bar before glancing again over his shoulder. The girls were still dancing but Isak wasn’t in the middle of them anymore. Where had he gone? His eyes scoured the crowd eagerly before he spotted him. It looked like he’d been making his way in Even’s direction but someone was holding his elbow, talking into his ear. Isak looked bewildered, confused as to why exactly this person was talking to him.

Then Even acknowledged the person who had their greasy, unremarkable, stubby hands on Isak. Payday guy. Payday  _ looking-for-a-hook-up-tonight _ guy.

_ “Oh, hell fucking no,” _ he said to no one but himself before launching away from the bar and making a beeline towards Isak. 

It only seemed a few swift steps before he was where he needed to be. Isak looking up, surprised to find him there. He smiled in relief and it gave Even courage he didn’t know he had. It gave him perhaps a little  _ too  _ much courage. 

Even smirked at payday guy as he slid between them, wrapping one arm around Isak’s waist and hauling him tight to his body. “Sorry to cut in,” he sung through a smirk before dragging Isak away. And he wasn’t sorry at all. 

“What the fuck are you doing,” Isak said close to his ear, but there was laughter in his voice, and where his body had frozen in shock when Even had first grabbed him, he was now softening. One arm wrapping around Even’s shoulders. The room seemed to spin around them. 

“I’m saving you,” Even said back, unable to resist the urge to run the tip of his nose up Isak’s neck to his ear. He grinned when Isak shivered. 

He knew which direction the girls were in, and he still had enough sense in him to steer Isak the other way. There was a gap in the crowded dance floor where he decided to stop. But he didn't let Isak go. And Isak didn't pull away, despite frowning up at Even. His eyes widened when Even began to sway his hips, pulling Isak with him. 

“ _ The fuck _ . Are we dancing?” It was an exclamation at what they were actually doing rather than a question. Even couldn't help the grin that spread on his face at Isak's shock and at the same time willingness to follow Even’s lead. 

He nodded. “I guess so. Nice shirt,” Even snickered.

Isak rolled his eyes, but his cheeks flushed. “It's Sana's,” he said, a very flimsy defence. 

Even’s grin widened. “It looks good on you.”

Isak looked about to speak but the words were swallowed as Even pulled him closer. Instead he licked his lips, gaze darting around them before coming to rest on Even’s face. Even watched as his lips parted, he was sure he could hear the air escape on a gentle moan. 

It dawned on him that he'd missed the sounds, the feel, the  _ presence  _ of Isak. It hit him harder than alcohol could and his head began to spin. He needed to breathe his breath. 

Ducking his head, he ran his nose along Isak's, watching as his gaze softened as well as his body. He felt malleable in Even’s arms. 

“I missed you,” he muttered against Isak's lips. 

He allowed himself to be hypnotized by Isak’s reactions, the way he swallowed and his gaze flicked between Even’s mouth and eyes, the way his lip trembled. It had taken them not even thirty seconds before the world was completely forgotten. 

Arms wrapped around Even’s neck, fingers tentatively running through the hair at his nape. Isak's fingertips held the power to make his blood run hot in his veins, setting explosions off beneath his skin. 

“I missed you,” Isak admitted. 

Even ran his hands up Isak's back, trying to blot out any space between them. And now all he could think about was Isak's skin, every inch of his bare skin. He needed it beneath his palms. He needed to taste every part of him. 

His body seemed to have a mind of its own and he rolled against Isak as they were pressed tightly together. An indescribable pleasure was sparked within him as he watched Isak's jaw sag and his eyes grow darker as he stared right back at Even. Watching pleasure bloom in Isak was addictive—he needed more.

His mouth hovered over Isak’s, sharing the same air. “Can I kiss you?” he asked, just like Isak had done that morning. 

And just like Even, Isak jutted his chin up, catching lips with his own. This time there was no gradual interlude, the heat was burning beneath a paper thin surface. They only needed one motion to cause a flame.

Isak's tongue was in his mouth, where it belonged, sliding against Even’s in the same slow way their hips were moving together. And now Even was so close he could hear every gasp that slipped from Isak's mouth when they broke apart. Fuck, this was absolutely everything he'd ever need, he was sure of it. 

He could remember saying he was going to go home, he’d said it was a good idea to leave things tonight and talk tomorrow. But right now Even couldn't remember the reasoning behind those decisions. He was higher than he'd ever been, he couldn't go home now. 

Eskild had said he was going to get a cab for him, but that wasn't necessary because Even had feet, and he was using them now to guide Isak towards the edge of the room, to where a row of doors were. There he could feel more, he could do more, he could hear Isak's moans deepen. He just wanted Isak to feel good; he wanted to be  _ everything _ that made Isak feel good. 

The first door was already closed, the sliding sign on the outside said  _ occupied.  _ So, he moved them to the next. It was free. Yanking the door open, he pulled Isak inside, so preoccupied with each other's mouths, they hadn't broken the kiss except to breathe. 

Isak pulled back. “What are we doing?” he whispered, the music still loud enough to make the air buzz. If he'd not been so intoxicated on these new emotions and the alcohol he'd been drinking all day, he would have felt the nerves vibrating from Isak. 

Even moved him against the wall, pushing his lips back home, and Isak melted against him again. 

“I just want to make you feel good,” Even told him as his mouth worked down Isak's throat. “It's all I want.” Even found his mouth again, kissing him deeply, playfully pulling at his lips and making sure both had been attended to equally. 

His hands drifted down Isak's side, feeling the sharp inhale Isak took as Even’s fingers grazed along his abdomen, finding the dip between hip bone and belly button, he teased at the soft skin. His mouth was moving along Isak's shoulder and he could just hear rapid breaths in his ear. 

If he hadn't been so driven to pleasure him, to do the things he knew would work, if he hadn't been so high on hormones, he would have noticed Isak’s fists tighten on his shirt in apprehension. Even would have noticed and questioned it, but he was lost in the tender skin of Isak’s throat and the rapid panting he could hear and feel raining down on his neck. 

“ _ Even _ ,” Isak began before his voice broke on a moan. He hummed into Isak's skin. Those moans and gasps were the sweetest sound Even had ever heard, it lulled him into the warmth of the body pressed to his, the feel of the body that had begun to rock against his in expectation. 

So, lost in Isak's scent and texture, it came as a shock when he felt hands shove roughly against his chest. His lips ripped away from Isak and he frowned, letting himself be pushed away from the only person he'd found solace within. 

His confusion deepened when Isak looked at him wide eyed and angry. “ _ Fucking stop, this is cheap, _ ” he spat. 

The words rang in Even’s ears and he had nothing. Nothing to say. Nothing to think. Those words bled into his body. Did Isak not want him anymore? He thought Even was cheap? The strings that seemed to hold Even together, and were tied in the centre of his chest, were ripped apart as Isak’s words and tone scalded him. He could taste the hatred. 

_ Cheap. Worthless. Disgusting. _ He'd heard those things before. He'd heard hatred before but never had it hurt so much. How could he have gotten this so wrong? 

Stepping back from Isak, Even saw him blink something away, maybe the anger, maybe there was regret. But it didn't matter. Isak had felt it all the same. He moved his mouth to say something but Even just shook his head. Neither of them needed to say anything. There was nothing to say.  _ He had nothing, _ and, even if he did, the lump in his throat was making it impossible to inhale, let alone talk. 

The door banged open so hard they both jumped, attention now on the interloper and the music pouring in.  _ Eskild _ . But it was too late now for any saving he intended to do. 

Even couldn't look at Isak, didn't want to see the distaste that was no doubt there now. So, he pushed past Eskild and made his way through the packed dance floor, making a beeline for the door. 

He pulled out his phone as he bounded down the stairs. He could go to someone that would pay a lot of money for him to be  _ cheap.  _ In fact, he fucking would. 

Typing a quick message he slipped out of the door to the club. His phone buzzed instantly. 

Cruelly, he pushed down and ridiculed his own hope that it would be Isak. Isak didn't want him, that was clear. It was the new client and he was only a few minutes away. He wanted to come now. 

That was good, he told himself several times. But he only accepted cash up front from new clients. That would probably cause issues. 

He sent a message. 

A reply bounced back:  _ No problem _ . 

Good, he said.  _ Good _ , he repeated to himself several more times as he strode to the end of the road, to where the guy said he'd stop. And, just like the guy had said, he did. 

A hand held out cash that Even quickly took before sliding into the seat. He felt nothing when he put on a smile. 

He felt nothing because Even wasn't there anymore. It was Romeo. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm really sorry...


	7. Chapter Six

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Why were you talking about me?”
> 
> “He was defending you. Me and Mags said you were grumpy, or something.”
> 
> “But I am grumpy.”
> 
> Eskild snorted. “Tell Even that, he thinks you are this delightful little baby bird that can do no wrong. He’s been mooning over you for weeks now, he just didn’t realise it.”
> 
> His mouth went dry and he could feel heat in his cheeks. Baby bird… he missed Even calling him that. “Weeks ago?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I should point a few things out:  
> Firstly, my tags.  
> Secondly, if you're not a fan of cliffhangers perhaps wait for the next update (which will hopefully not take longer than a week)  
> Thirdly, I use three centred asterisk to denote where violence begins and ends, if you so wish to read without the details. 
> 
> This chapter is solely Sarah's fault because of two songs she exposed me to: [Eyes Shut (Years & Years)](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=wf_ySBlZjKw) and [Behind The Gun (On and On)](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=D9VG7WJXhJM)#blamesarah

##  Chapter Six

###  Isak

“What the fuck just happened?” Eskild demanded, slamming the door behind him.

Isak stammered, trying to figure out what had happened himself. But why was Eskild so mad? “That's not your business,” he managed. And it was true.

“Bullshit; he's my friend, you're my  _ family, _ ” Eskild stated. “I told him to go home, he'd drunk too much—he  _ never _ drinks too much.” He frowned at Isak. “Why in here— _ of all places, _ Isak?” Eskild stressed each word with more exasperation than Isak had ever seen in him before. 

He shook his head. How much did Eskild know? “I wasn't thinking, I thought it would be OK, and then,” he swallowed, trying to smother the emotions that were bubbling to the surface. “And then it wasn't OK.”

It had hit him hard and completely disorientated him; he’d been cruising top speed before slamming into a wall. One minute it was Even, and Isak had never felt safer. The next minute it was _that_ night with the guy who Isak couldn't remember. Flashbacks of the drama that had haunted him after that epic clusterfuck had assaulted him instantly. He hadn't been talking to Even; he'd been talking to that guy.

Eskild was right. Why the fuck in here? He really hadn't been thinking.

And now he could see Even’s face, like the afterimage of the sun when you stare at it, burning behind his eyelids. He'd never seen such blatant anguish and pain. It had no place on Even’s face. But what had Isak said to hurt him so much? He didn't understand.

Eskild was scrubbing at his face. “Sana said you went this way, I didn’t think either of you would be dumb enough. She had her hands full with Vilde,” he sighed, placing his hands on his hips. “Well, the shit has hit the fan now.”

“I don't know what I did,” he mumbled, looking at Eskild desperately.

Eskild’s expression shifted from frustration to pity when he looked at Isak. He shook his head. “Fucking go,” Eskild urged. “Go after him.”

And Isak did, for once not balking at Eskild’s advice. 

Flinging open the door, he made his way to the exit. He assumed that's where Even would go. Bursting out of the door, he looked up and down the road.

“ _ Even!”  _ he called. A few dark shapes stumbled down either side of the road but none stopped.

Isak decided to try left, for a reason he couldn't fathom. His feet slapped against the cold concrete as he covered the distance, regretting not picking up his coat. Had Even got his coat? He would get cold out in this.

He called out again but it was fruitless. Stopping at the end of the road, Isak looked around, beginning to panic and feeling lost. Eskild had said he was drunk, if Isak had focussed on something other than fucking kissing him, maybe he would have noticed and had the goddamn sense to slow it down before it came to this. It wasn't safe for Even to be out in this weather while drunk.

Sighing in frustration, and a building sense of foreboding, Isak moved to turn away—retrace his steps and try the other direction—when a car passed him, slowing to stop at a junction with another road.

Paralysis settled on him as he watched Even—too far away to hear Isak call—open the door, take something, and then get in. The car pulled away.

_ What the fuck was going on? _

“Isak? Why are you outside?”

Blinking, Isak turned towards the voice. He shrugged. “Why are  _ you _ outside, Mags?” He couldn’t help but sound harassed, Magnus wasn’t paying any mind to it though.

Magnus nodded back over his shoulder. Vilde was on a corner, bent double while Eva held her hair away from her face. Sana had her back to them with her phone pressed to her ear and making a shushing gesture in Vilde’s direction—probably calling a cab, Isak assumed. Even the vomit tonight was ultraviolet. Isak just nodded slowly, unable to really speak.

“You OK?”

“I just… it’s Even. He just got into someone's car. They picked him up. And he took something first.” What cab driver gave you something? The way Even had stuffed it in his pocket was like you would with cash. Why would he be taking cash like that?

Magnus looked in the direction Isak was staring, despite the car being long gone. “It's probably a client.”

Isak’s brain came up blank.  _ “A client? _ ” he repeated.

“Yeah,” Magnus smirked. “I don't even know how I'm supposed to call it. He does what he wants and gets paid? That's what Even says he does.” Magnus was still grinning, almost in admiration.

“What the fuck are you talking about?” Isak sounded angry, confused and irritated because he was all of those things.

“A call boy, or whatever the term is,” he shrugged before rubbing the back of his head absentmindedly. “Just don’t ask if he’s a prostitute where Eskild can hear.”

Isak wasn't sure if it was the cold that made him numb or the fact his brain had decided it wasn't going to acknowledge any emotion or sensation right now. If it did, he was sure it would overload.

_ “A call boy,” _ he repeated, unable to hide the hurt in his voice.

His friend looked at him, eyes filling with concern and questions. Before he could ask anything, Eva called out from behind him.

“Can you go get her coat? I think it's time to go.” Eva turned back to Vilde and tsked. “You know you shouldn't have tried to drink  _ all  _ of those different coloured shots, not on top of a bottle of wine.”

Isak would normally help, he would usually gather his friends and make sure they got home safe, but Isak wasn't sure if he was Isak right now. So he just watched Magnus turn and trot back to the club on his own.

He simply felt like a brain in a mass of flesh and bone walking down a street—which he was. He didn't know when he'd made the decision to just turn away and leave, but he was halfway home before he questioned not going back for his coat. Isak was simply running on the most basic of instincts.

Between the stress that had ambushed him in the club and the shock of learning Even wasn't exactly who Isak thought he was, Isak had no clue how to pick this apart, what he felt, or where to begin. So, instead, he simply closed the metaphoric drawer that was full to bursting of messy, knotted and tangled loose threads. It was too big of a mess for him to accomplish right now.

He was fully clothed and lying in his bed before Isak realised he was home. Looking at the door he saw that—in his autopilot wandering—he'd closed it all the way.

There was no crack.

That was probably for the best, he told himself.

###  Even

It had been a mistake, he had admitted that to himself relatively quickly. Even wasn’t sure whether he’d ever been that drunk, but he knew he’d never sobered up so fast.

Digging deep into his pocket, he tried in vain to find something to offer the guy. This was more awkward than a confidence fuck, if that’s what he’d been looking to get into. 

The guy sniffed again. He’d said his name was Will, but Even was just going to go right on ahead and call him crying guy. 

Wordlessly, he pointed to the glove compartment. Opening it, Even found a small pack of tissues, sat next to carefully organised car documents and a bag of mints that you get with the bill at restaurants. Pulling out the pack, he passed it to the man in the driver's seat. He wasn’t bawling his eyes out, but there were tear tracks on his cheeks— _ and _ there was snot. This was neither fun nor satisfying. Just as that thought materialized, Even banished it; this was never going to be fun or satisfying, not anymore. 

“Thank you,” the guy murmured before blowing his nose. “It’s just I gave up so much, you know?”

Even nodded. “I know it seems…  _ bad _ to a lot of people the idea is—well, people don’t think much of it. But it’s  _ just  _ a service,” he impressed. How the fuck was he supposed to make this guy feel better about his husband’s extra marital activities? He had his own shit to sort out. “Sometimes people get stressed and they just need an outlet, something unrelated to their life.”

“But I could be there for him, if he’d let me,” the guy plead.

Even shrugged. “We can’t be everything that one person needs.”

Crying guy was quiet for a moment, looking out of the windshield into the dark. They’d pulled over on some back road, about twenty minutes outside of Oslo. Even had been ready to get into the backseat, but then the guy had begun his sad sob story. And, so, thirty-five minutes later, here they were… 

“How often?”

Even rolled his eyes. If this couldn’t get any more awkward he was going to fish for details? “I don’t know, not that often. Monthly? Maybe every two months. But it’s not like he does anything.”

The guy was shaking his head. His chin was wobbling again. Obviously, their separate ideas of often were not compatible. 

_ God, please don’t let him ask for any more details…  _

“And… what does he do? W-what do you do?”

He didn’t think crying guy would accept Even’s fleeting excuse of a confidentiality agreement. Sighing, Even closed his eyes briefly trying to imagine himself anywhere else but here. But the only thing he could see when he did that was Isak staring at him in disgust. 

_ What had he done so fucking wrong? _

“He picks me up, I sit in the back, and he watches while I wank. He doesn’t usually say anything. He’s never asked for anything more…  _ in fact _ , I know more about you than I do about him.” He wasn’t exactly sure how he was supposed to make this guy feel more secure in his marriage, or if there was any way to. But it really was no big fucking deal—to Even anyway. “Like a live porno,” he added with a shrug. 

Turning back to the guy, he caught the once over he was being given. He was probably matching himself up to Even, trying to see where they were different. 

“Why can’t he ask  _ me  _ to do it?”

“It’s not about you or me. Maybe he feels embarrassed about his needs, maybe some whore who doesn’t know his name makes him feel more comfortable. I’ve done this long enough to know sexual desires are hardly straight forward, or logical. And mostly it has nothing to do with any emotion.” Even tried to keep the exasperation from his voice, but it was hard. 

The guy blinked away, sniffing again. But his tears had stopped at least. Now he just looked thoughtful. 

“I left my dogs behind, to move here, you know?” There was a hint of anger in his voice now, or at least frustration. That was natural, Even assumed. It had been obvious the guy was not Norwegian—he sounded American—but he was bright enough to speak the language. He’d made a lot of changes to come to this point, it was bound to hurt. 

Suddenly, Even felt guilty for what he’d done. He knew there was no real foundation in the emotion; his job wasn’t to be morally upstanding,  _ or  _ help people through their relationship issues. He knew he was simply a symptom of something not being OK—usually, anyway—but he was still a factor in whether these two people stayed together. Maybe the factor that would attract the most focus. 

He already had a lot to feel shitty for, and now this… 

“Look, I’m sorry. I make it a point not to have any idea what my clients do in their personal life,” he began, licking his lips. It was true, mostly. “I guess if I’d known…” he trailed off. What would he have done? Maybe he had the room to care now because of his feelings for Isak, but before Isak had come into his life? Was he being disingenuous?

But the guy nodded. Truth or not, the sentiment seemed to give him some relief. “I guess I can see why,” he muttered. 

_ Why what? _ Why his husband would want to watch? Was that a… compliment? A come on? It made Even feel awkward. He’d tried and quickly failed to assume Romeo, but maybe if he could just find the mask to put on, without the rest of the armour. Maybe that would work, if he could just do that much.

_ Cheap _ . 

Even shivered at the words that had been thrown out of Isak’s mouth at him. 

He looked at the clock. “You have twenty minutes left, I’m not a therapist but I can get you off,” he offered. It wasn’t diplomatic. It wasn’t casual or smooth. This was all so fucked. “It might make you feel better.”

The guy shot him a look out of the corner of his eye before licking his lips. “I don’t want to cheat on him, just because…” he trailed off. It wasn’t a no. Even would prefer a handful of minutes getting someone off than feeling more depressed than he already did for a full twenty minutes. Or maybe the two options led to the same diabolical fucking destination, but Even really didn’t want to talk about anyone else’s issues right now. He was too full with his own. 

“I can just give you a hand,” Even said, reaching across and pressing the release on crying guy’s seat belt. He didn’t answer, but he didn’t say no. 

“I’ve never done this,” he replied thickly—trying to deny whatever he was imagining. But he was entertaining it.

“I have.” Even watched as he made one small nod of consent. People were generally weak, it didn’t take much persuasion. At the core of almost everyone was self interest, or selfishness… not Isak though. 

He hadn't been so distant from something like this for many,  _ many _ years—way before he invented Romeo. He went outside of himself, as he unzipped the guy's trousers and pulled his half hard cock out. He was outside of the car—a long, long way away—but there was no one inhibiting this body. It was a shell as he stroked the guy’s dick down, and hands tightened around the steering wheel.

It wasn’t Even that heard short, ragged grunts as his palm moved up and down. He casually considered the notion of a tree falling where no one can hear it. If he wasn’t here, was this even really happening?

He wasn’t even fully aware of the warmth that spilled down the back of his hand, or when he took the tissue used to wipe away tears to clean his hand, before handing the almost full pack to crying guy. He could clean himself up. 

Yep. Just as he’d imagined, he felt shitty. Dirty. Worthless. Isak didn’t want his honest passion and he could no longer muster the fake desire. 

“Am I supposed to feel bad after?” the guy asked, mirroring Even’s thoughts.

Even shrugged. “That’s something outside of my control,” he never would have been this blasé before, he would sweet talk and pander so at least they felt good until Romeo left. “No refunds,” he added blandly before grabbing the door handle and opening the door.

“Don’t you want me to give you a lift? I can drop you off,” the guy said. But he sounded like he would be relieved to see the back of Even—to forget this ever occured. 

_ Ditto, crying guy. _

Even shook his head as he pulled himself out of the seat, ducking his head down he looked at the guy. He really hoped he never saw his face again—not that it was a bad face, but it was now the standard-bearer of one of the worst decisions in his life. “I need the walk,” he stated, hesitating before taking his leave. “Good luck with everything,” he added. The guy just nodded, unable to meet Even’s eyes as he zipped up his pants and put his seat belt back on.

Even slammed the door and watch the car pull out and disappear into the dark. He tried to tell himself that it all could have gone a lot worse, but he found it hard to buy his own words. He had no idea what he was feeling except deep and excruciating pain that he couldn't smother. 

He made it a handful of steps before his stomach twisted. Leaning against a tree, Even bent over while he emptied his stomach violently on to the murky ground—and probably his shoes too. 

Spitting the last few lingering bits of half digested food out, he considered that what had just come up—as well as being the drinks he shouldn’t have consumed—was probably the waffles from this morning. Or yesterday morning now. It was like his body was trying to reject the last twenty four hours entirely. If only it was that easy.

Not that he wanted to erase Isak, or the intimacy. He was pretty sure he would be fine living the rest of his life as some grey, soulless creature in exchange for those memories—those minutes of solace. But he’d take them back for Isak’s sake, he would take all this away. Whatever regret Isak had found in that room, strong enough to find repulsion in Even, he wished he could erase it from Isak’s memory.

In hindsight—and in sobriety—it had been a stupid idea. He knew Isak’s story, he should have thought it through. He  _ should  _ have gone home, like Eskild had said. But there was no undoing the way in which Isak saw Even now. Even knew that much from experience, once someone looked at you like that it would never change. Always waiting beneath the surface for the next fight, or moment of discomfort. Then it was used as a weapon, Even had no defence against that tool in Isak’s hands.

It was done now. It was done, and he deserved the walk home in the freezing cold without a jacket. He deserved the taste of vomit in his mouth. He deserved the itch on his skin from where the guy’s cum had spurted on to him. He deserved this dissociation with himself. 

What the fuck was he going to do with his life now? If he’d completely lost Romeo and Isak at the same time, where did he go? And if Isak wanted nothing to do with him, wouldn’t he need to draw away from Eskild, Magnus and the club? That left Even with his studies, and right now he doubted having any intellect whatsoever. 

_ Good things weren’t meant for him.  _

These words repeated themselves with each step he took. The cold set into his bones, but he didn't even care enough to shiver. 

He'd learnt very early not to open himself, not to connect or get used to people. Why had he thought this would be different? He'd moved through life so guarded and—for whatever reason—his defences had dissolved as soon as he'd seen Isak. There had been no reason Even could find to reserve himself around him, it just felt natural to be that way. Now he knew better, he should have known better than to trust those instincts when it came to someone else. 

Anyone and everyone could hurt you. Life was better if you inhibited your own island, with no one else using your resources. Even hadn't needed anyone but himself before, he could do that again. He would have to. 

_ Because he wasn't made for good things. _

He was staring at Isak's door now. He couldn't remember the walk home, or getting into the apartment. He'd made the conscious decision to take a shower, and—as he stood here looking at Isak's door that had no crack present at all—he felt the sudden urge to get back into the steam and scrub himself all over again. 

Some dangerous thought had lurked at the back of his mind that maybe if there  _ was  _ a crack—the door left ajar by even a millimeter—maybe there was some hope. 

Inside, he was laughing sardonically at himself.  _ Hope? _ That wasn't for him either. But on the surface, he was emotionless. 

Despite the cruel thoughts, he took a step forward, then another until his toes were an inch from the door. Closing his eyes, he rested his forehead against the wooden surface, and then flattened his palm against it, too. He was sure—even from the other side of this divide—he could feel Isak's warmth. 

He knew Isak was here, even if his shoes hadn't been kicked off at the door, Even still would have felt him. He didn't know how, there was just a difference in the apartment when Isak was there, echoes were absorbed into something sweet and comforting.

It was a sweetness that could never have been compatible with him. He would have soured it. He already had. 

Pushing away from the door, Even made his way back to his room and closed it off; another barrier being rectified. Then he stood in scalding streams of water until he felt light headed enough so that—when he lay down—the world simply went black. 

* * *

_ Even stared at the widening cracks below his feet. He needed to move. _

_ Looking over his shoulder, the dark surface behind that he’d been walking on had already dissolved. He wasn’t sure what this was but it looked like lava flow melting marble flooring. The lava churned and bubbled sickeningly where he could see it through the cracks, but it wasn’t red or orange. It was black; a bleakness that seemed to suck all the light and hope from its surroundings. _

_ Even needed to keep moving.  _

_ He looked forward, the cracks were inches wide now. Why had cracks been good before? Now they were unquestionably a bad thing. _

_ He hopped onto the next piece of flooring that would hold his weight, then he looked up at the landscape to find his path. _

_ It was almost as bleak as the lava; dim and swirling. He couldn’t make out what was out there. Was it better than what was below his feet? _

_ But there were stars above and Even stopped to stare at them. Constellations danced and undulated as he tried to focused on them.  _

_ Where was North? He had to find north. _

_ All of those bright sparks, so far away, moved and pulsed—they couldn’t be read. All of them except two. _

_ Even stared at those two. They zoomed towards him until they were no longer stars. They were Isak. Isak was there. But he was far away, sat on the edge of one of these segments of flooring. He looked uncaring and completely oblivious to Even’s existence here. _

_ Isak was North. _

_ “Isak!” he screamed. And it wasn’t for Isak’s safety—something told Even that Isak was fine. It was for his own safety that he was screaming. But Isak sat unmoving. He hadn’t heard. _

_ Even jumped to the next marble island, and then the next. They were getting smaller and unsteady. He wobbled on one, arms outstretched.  _

_ Looking up, it didn’t look like he’d gotten any closer. “Isak!” he tried again. Isak still didn’t move. _

_ On and on he went, sweat began to trickle down his neck, the heat of this morbid infinity below him seemed to make him boil inside.  _

_ Then there were no more pieces of marble. He stood on this last one, no larger than one of his feet, and looked desperately at an uncaring Isak.  _

_ His throat was swollen with emotion, he had so much to say but he couldn’t say anything more. The words halted in his chest, they were absorbed by his tongue, somewhere where they shouldn’t have been.  _

_ He had so much to say…  _

_ “Baby bird, fly,” he managed a whisper that hurt as it bled from his throat. Then his foot slipped. _

_ The darkness took him, it pushed into his lungs and stole his air—his words. It pushed into his veins and paralysed him. But he was still looking up, and on this side of the black void, the fluid he was submerged in was crystal clear. Isak was looking at the spot Even had been standing. Maybe he’d heard those words. _

_ Even blinked. Isak was gone. _

_ Fly, baby bird. _

_ There was nothing around him, Even was suspended in an obsolete darkness. _

_ Spiders with pin point feet crawled over his flesh and he shuddered as he acknowledged that he wasn’t alone. _

_ He looked down below him and there he saw the monsters. He saw their eyes in the darkness. He wanted to scream and fight but he knew he wouldn’t. _

_ They would come and they would peel the skin from his bones and turn him inside out, but he wouldn’t say a word. He wouldn’t do a thing but let them. _

_ His hand landed on Even’s foot... _

* * *

Isak was gone. 

Even just knew it when he opened his eyes, shuddering awake from his nightmare and gasping for breath. Even knew he was gone in the same way he'd known he was there last night. Isak was gone and the monsters were back.

And there had been no way to operate than to just go through the motions—like he had; like he used to. He set his alarm for the time he used to set it, before he'd found it easy to relax and actually enjoyed sleeping later than usual with Isak down the hall. He got to class on time. He stopped at the restaurants he used to go to for meals, but more often than not it would go to waste. He showered every time he found himself staring at Isak's door. He had closed it on his way out, whenever Isak had left in the night. 

By day two, he found himself gazing at the schedule that Isak had written out for himself, the magnets Even had brought, holding it there—they were an alphabet and number set. Tomorrow was spaghetti night. Maybe he should cook it? 

Before he left the fridge behind, taking with him sprawling thoughts of whether a specific laundry day would make his life more efficient, he’d moved the magnets around to spell something out to an empty apartment:

_ I M1S YOU _

There was only one of each letter in the set; he couldn’t even do this right. 

But missing someone was an entirely new concept to Even: kissing, missing, sharing, loving… because that’s what this was: love. As fast and as stupefying as it had taken hold of him, that was what this was, and—just as quick—it was gone. It was utterly fruitless.

He felt like a stranger in someone else’s life, no matter what he did to normalise himself. How could someone being close to him for such a short amount of time make such a profound impact? Could he reverse it all? Could he live like he had before? Did he want to?

He supposed that last question didn’t matter so much; there was no other choice. 

It was that second lonely evening Even found himself sat on his bed. He was staring at the wall because he wasn’t sure what he was supposed to be doing, or where he was supposed to be, and Isak’s door was starting to taunt him. So he did something he’d laid to rest a long time ago.

Walking to the drawers, he picked up his journal, it was an old tattered leather bound thing that had survived through years of neglect and then overuse once the mood hit Even.

Unwinding the cord that wrapped around it, he flicked through it. There were hundreds of sketches on the crisp, cream, pages, sometimes scrawled words that were more ramblings than anything of significance. But the most common item was a cartoon snapshot; one of a memory, and another of that same memory how Even wished it had played out.

One had him alone on his bed, the stocking he’d left out overnight had remained empty. Nobody had come to see him that Christmas, no one had even  _ said  _ Merry Christmas. And—if he remembered correctly—he was pretty sure dinner had been whatever he’d found in cans in the cupboard… maybe it had been tinned sardines. His mum had been drunk the whole day, and didn’t bother coming home that following night. In his reimagined world, there was a tree, there were presents, his grandma was there  _ and  _ his mum. There was plenty of food and he was warm in blankets. The only blessing about the real version was that he’d been left alone in his bedroom—no unwelcome visitors that day.

Another was a picture of him walking home through a storm. No one had been there to collect him from school—that was a regular occurrence. Even could never bring himself to ask for help because doing that would get his mum in trouble. So, he’d walked through the downpour in February, coat too thin and shoes that leaked. He’d wound up catching a cold, having to spend a few days in bed. He hated having to stay in the house because he felt like a sitting duck. The alternative memory wasn’t so different. It was him on the bike he’d asked for for his birthday—he would have settled for a third hand rust bucket—and a rain mac. He’d have enjoyed riding through the rain, splashing through puddles, until he would skid to a halt, jumping off his bike to be greeted home by a warm hug.

There were countless memories like this.

Even found himself smiling as he looked at the small sketch of him on a bike. It reminded him of the night with Isak. Maybe some of these memories would come to life, but just later on. Or they  _ would  _ have, if he hadn’t fucked things up.

His eyes flicked between this series of two warped mirror images. Now that he was thinking about that night with Isak, it made him consider their conversations about parallel universes. Maybe he’d grasped that concept before then. Maybe he’d been imagining parallel universes for as long as he could remember, living in them when he closed his eyes—when he’d needed to escape his reality. 

Flicking to the back of his journal, he found there was still a wad of blank pages. He gazed at the paper for a long while, imagining—if he was going to draw now—what the images would be. And, having made his decision, he opened the small drawer in his bedside table to grab the stubby pencil that he kept in there. 

Then he lost himself. Even forgot about the emptiness that had surrounded him as he focussed on the pencil and the paper, creating new snapshots and their alternate version. Somewhere out there things  _ were  _ different, maybe that was enough for him to know.

It would have to be enough.

He jumped in surprise when his phone bleeped his message alert. Even squinted at the screen; it was 00:39 and his eyes were sore now. Placing the journal open on the small table, with the pencil laying down the centre, he slid a thumb across the screen as he laid back on the bed.

He hadn’t been expecting it to be Isak, Even had done away with that notion the minute he’d stepped out of the club. He wasn’t surprised to see Eskild’s name on the screen. He’d been trying to call and—uncharacteristically—Even had been ignoring him. He just wasn’t sure what he was supposed to do or say yet. Luckily, Eskild hadn’t barraged him with calls. This was the first text he’d sent: 

_ Isak knows. Magnus told him cos he saw you get in someone’s car. Call me when you can. _

Even read the message several times before letting the phone fall onto his chest. He’d thought that he’d reached the extent of the pain, but this had proven him wrong. 

Isak now knew, he’d learned from someone else—he’d  _ seen _ . And now he probably thought he’d been right in calling Even cheap—if he’d doubted his words at all. In fact, he probably had a few other words to call Even now. 

There had never been any point in hoping anyway, but now… 

His phone sounded again. Picking it up, he frowned at the screen. He’d expected another text from Eskild, forgetting some information about the club. But it was his business line.

_ Are you free tomorrow night? If you have plans, I’ll pay double. _

Even’s stomach gripped in nausea again but he ignored it. There wasn’t much in his gut to throw up anyway. 

Tossing his phone on the empty space next to him, he tried to ignore the image that flashed in his mind every time he looked at that side of the bed; Isak lying peacefully asleep.

Instead, Even bored holes into the ceiling. Those parallel universes were an infinite distance from where he was right now, he had to try and remember how he’d survived alone. Even had been purposefully dodging Mr Bucharest for the last few weeks, with the club it seemed unsure ground to tread.

But if Isak  _ knew _ , it dictated his involvement now. He would remain a silent partner; he’d never take away his share from Eskild and Magnus, but he would have nothing more than investment in the club. That way this wouldn’t be a conflict of interest and he wouldn’t have to step on Isak’s toes in his social circle. That seemed the only real option now. 

_ Surely, Isak wouldn’t accept what he knew—learning it the way he had? _

He could try one more time to revive Romeo, maybe it would be easier with someone that wasn’t a fresh face. Mr Bucharest had expectations, perhaps Even would fall back into that role with him. And if it still didn’t work, that would be the end of that; Even would have to find a new way to survive. 

Rolling to his side, he grabbed his phone and sent back a text:

_ I’m free. Time? Place? _

###  Isak 

He was lying on his back staring at the ceiling again. Except this was a different ceiling and Isak began to ponder if there was a scale on ceilings—from exceptional to poor—based on nothing but the way you felt when you looked at it for an extended period of time.

The ceiling in his room was better than this one—or it had been. Was it his room anymore? But right now this was the one he had to look at, because he couldn’t be at the apartment right now. He didn’t know if he could go back.

His eyes scoured this room again, as if any new details would pop out. It was the spare, and it had been recently repainted; it was now beige. Beige didn’t make him feel one way or another, and Isak supposed that was the point of a spare room. He appreciated that.

The bed was narrow and comfortable, he could sleep in it—if he could fall asleep in the first place—so it served its purpose.

But apart from the sparse environment he was hiding within, everything else was a mess and he didn't know up from down. He’d thought his feet were beginning to settle onto something—something that felt solid. But everything had changed so fast.

He knew there were things about Even that he didn't know. And now this one revelation had stood everything on its head. Isak kept going over their conversations, trying to figure out clues for things he didn't yet know, or to point out what he did now know. 

Try as he might to come to a conclusion of his current state of reality, trying to fix that drawer of tangled loose threads, Isak simply kept getting side tracked by soft memories. Warmth and sweetness; something good. 

I'd  _ had  _ been good—at least for him. Had it just been something to entertain Even? He couldn't begin to see things from his perspective now, not that he'd been much use at that in the first place. But now he doubted every detail he knew; he didn’t feel qualified to call this.

The door pushed open and Eva wandered in holding a stack of towels. 

“ _ Fuck _ , I keep forgetting to knock, sorry Isak,” she muttered, shaking her head at herself. “I just thought you might need some fresh towels. If you wanted to… shower or something.” 

“It's OK. Not like I was up to top secret shit anyway,” Isak sighed, breaking his gaze from her to continue his analysis of the plaster above him. 

“You didn't really finish…” she began. Isak already knew she meant the soup in the bowl. He'd eaten half, that had seemed enough. “Never mind,” she concluded softly. 

There was a moment of hesitation before she plopped down at the end of the bed. 

“It's spaghetti day,” he murmured. 

She patted his leg. “Yeah I know. I didn't have any meat or pasta.” 

But he was shaking his head. “It doesn't really matter anyway.” And he meant it. Nothing mattered much right now, least of all a goddamn dumb schedule. His phone was ringing again and he knew it, not by any noise or the vibration—he'd turned both off. It was the light he could see blinking in the corner of his eye. He would turn it over; problem solved.

When the room fell to a still dullness again, Eva cleared her throat. “Well, I'll get some for next week. That's if you're still here…” she trailed off. Because the subject hadn't been broached yet of why exactly he was here and what he was hiding from. Eva always gave him his space to figure things out, she didn't probe like Eskild did either. At least not where Isak was aware of it. 

His throat was tight again, like always when this subject edged into the conversation. Instead he just shrugged. 

“Do you know how to use the shower here? It's kinda complicated, you have to pull this knob up and then there's one for the temperature and another for the water…  _ strength _ —or whatever. I don't know why they had to make it so fucking weird, you only need one…  _ thingy _ . It's just a shower.” 

Isak pushed up on to his elbows to stare at her. “I get the hint; I'll take a shower.” 

She grinned at him. “And if you need spare clothes I can get you something of Jonas's. He won't mind.” Turning her head, she gazed skeptically at his backpack, it sat where it had been thrown in the corner. It was the only thing he'd brought and she must be doubting it was enough for overnight, let alone a few days. 

And she was right. He'd packed the minimum, just blindly shoved a few things into his bag: toothbrush, comb, underwear, a t-shirt…  

He'd been awake that night, unable to find sleep. Even came home at whatever dumb time, and Isak had heard his feet stop outside the door. The minutes had stretched out and he’d tried to hold his breath. If Even had knocked, he would have let him in. Then Isak probably would have collapsed in tears and proceeded to be a needy goddamn mess.

He wanted to hit Even and hold him at the same time; berate and console him. And Isak couldn't stop thinking about whatever the fuck Even had been doing with this  _ client _ . Was that how it would work? Something bad would happen and Isak would watch him get into a stranger's car? What the fuck kinda mess was that? And why was he even considering it as a viable way to live? 

He’d had to leave, once Even had gone back to his room. Emotions had been overflowing in him—he was overwhelmed. It may have been dulled by the distance, but he still had no idea what he was doing. What  _ they  _ were doing. Was there even a they? How had Isak hurt him? So much so that he would run away and jump into a stranger’s car? If he had just looked at Isak, if Even had stayed long enough for Isak to explain… 

Isak remembered Eva was in the room and he stopped scowling at the light switch. 

“Should we get pizza for dinner?” she asked, crawling up the bed to lay beside him. Casually, she toyed with a stray flick of his hair, tucking it behind his ear—just like a sister would, just like she used to.

Isak shrugged. “I don’t mind,” he replied absentmindedly. Then his brows furrowed as he turned to her. “I can’t smell that bad if you’re willing to lay next to me.”

She bobbed her head from side to say, as if to say  _ maybe, maybe not _ . “I’m living with Jonas now, I’m used to smelling  _ a lot _ of bad things,” she stated. “I think I’ve been desensitised.”

Snorting, Isak shook his head. “That was your choice, for better or worse now.”

“Well,” she retorted, “I have six months’ grace, I can pull out at  _ any  _ time.”

Whereas before, Isak would find some quip about relationships and how much shit they were, he just didn’t have the heart for it anymore. Rolling to his side, he returned the gesture, tucking a long strand of hair behind her ear. “But you won’t,” he said softly. 

She shook her head. “No. Smell and all, he is the one.”

He studied her for a minute, he’d missed this. It wasn’t so hard to talk to people, Even had shown him that. Now he’d confided in Sana, and he felt at ease talking to Eva. Even had changed him, despite everything else. 

“Don’t you get scared that… maybe one day you’ll change or he’ll change? Or he’ll do something you never saw coming?”

Eva stared back at him with a confused expression, like when a child asks why the sky is blue. It just was, that was why. Although Isak knew there was more to the sky being blue than that, to Eva it was simply what it was. There was no point in questioning it. Isak supposed that was probably a very relaxed way to approach life, he envied that.

“We’re human, Isak. He’ll change; I’ll change; love changes. You have to roll with it. And him doing something that would shock me?” She paused, chewing her lip thoughtfully. “It will probably happen, but I have to weigh up one surprising thing against what I know of him. Maybe I’ll be mad, or confused, or angry, but if my love for him is stronger than all those emotions… we’ll work it out,” she said with a smile. “But he has to want it, too.” 

Isak studied her face. That was all very much true— _ and _ wise. Did Even want to talk to him? Did he want to work it out? He hadn’t tried to call or text. It was one of the reasons Isak had turned his phone on silent and switched off the vibrate mode. He couldn’t cope with the silence, and if someone did call, his heart was in his mouth before plummeting through the soles of his feet when he realised it wasn’t Even.

“I guess if he doesn’t try, it means he doesn’t want to? Make things up, I mean.”

She studied him right back. “Fear does stupid things to people sometimes. People can hide away because they think something is worse than it is. Even the most intelligent of us.” Her smile was gentle and she reached out to ruffle his hair—not so gently. 

Swallowing, Isak looked away. Because he was doing the exact same thing; hiding away. Even had followed him out onto the balcony, facing his fears. Isak knew he was genuine enough not to fake the emotions Isak had felt coming off him in waves. Maybe he was scared to follow again? 

It didn’t change the fact that Even did something that Isak couldn’t wrap his head around.  _ Why? _ Him of all people, why would he need to do  _ that? _ He knew Even was a survivor, that he’d come from an unpleasant background. Was this how he’d learned to keep his head above the water? To gain his independence? If he looked at it that way, it was admirable. But he still couldn’t grasp it, it still didn’t sit right with him. But did it actually change who he was to Isak?

“Can I ask you something, Isak?” She put the question across quietly, but Isak’s attention snapped back into the room. He’d been admiring the light switch again. Maybe he should turn the light on and stop living in the dark.

“You’ve known me long enough not to have to ask that question.”

The face she pulled was one that said she didn’t agree with that statement, but she went ahead anyway—if hesitantly. “Did you go and do something stupid like fall in love?”

Isak turned sharply to look at her, shock on his face and about to refute the tip-toed question, but the statement sunk into him. He couldn’t say that it wasn’t true, he also couldn’t admit to it either. Not yet. It was fucking pointless anyway. 

Instead, he let his head fall against Eva like she was a pillow. Her hand ran through his hair soothingly. All he could do was nod, trying desperately to hold back what he felt inside—trying to close that drawer on the threads that were overflowing now.

“I don't know what I'm doing,” he mumbled into into the Winnie the Pooh sweater Eva was wearing. He had a strange feeling it used to be his, and was now hers by some twist of clothes borrowing fate. His assumption was via Jonas. 

“I know you'll figure it out,” she said soothingly. “Is there anything I can do?”

He shook his head.

“If you need to talk, you know I'm here, OK? 

He nodded.

“And don't leave it too late,” she urged, hugging him to her. 

Too late? How would he know when was too late? Was there a sign he should look out for? All of these things he had to consider and worry over, was it all just instinctual to everyone else? 

He needed to take his mind off things, because the thoughts would get stuck like a broken record, playing the most jarring, off beat song imaginable.

Isak turned his head so he could speak. “Can we watch a movie and get pizza?” 

“Sure,” she said, excitedly. “Did you have something in mind to watch?”

Isak pursed his lips. “Have you seen any Marilyn Monroe movies?” 

* * *

The roles had switched from the spare room. It was still dark in the living room, the credits rolling on the screen cast the only dull light across the space. But it was Eva that now used Isak as a pillow, every now and then a soft snore coming from her.

At least he'd watched it to the end this time, which had been just as entertaining as Isak remembered the rest being when he'd watched it with Even. 

Eva had appreciated it too, initially hesitant about an old movie, but she was soon gushing over the daring dresses they put Marilyn in. The ending had resonated probably more than was intended with Isak; once Jack Lemmon had tossed off his wig and declared himself a man to his millionaire love interest who'd assumed he was a woman, the only response was:  _ Well, nobody's perfect.  _

Maybe that's where Isak had gone wrong, he'd always held Even up to some perfect standard that was just unfair for any human to be compared and contrasted to. Sooner or later they would fail, not because they wanted to, but it was an impossible facade to maintain. 

And he'd caught Even’s favourite quote this time:  _ To err is human, to forgive divine.  _

Even had a forgiving nature, that was for sure. Was he holding back because he thought Isak was upset? With him leaving the house, that was an easy conclusion to come to. 

Isak would consider whether they could forgive each other, but he'd gone over things so much in his mind that he didn't truly think there was anything to forgive anymore. It was all so insignificant in comparison to everything else Even made him feel. But he couldn't speak for Even…  

A key slid into the lock and the front door opened ahead of two low voices: Jonas and Eskild. So, Eskild  _ could  _ speak quietly then? 

Jonas’s head poked into the living room. “Ahhh, look at that,” he whispered, grinning at Isak. “She usually falls asleep there when I'm working late, it's nice to see she has a pillow upgrade.” 

“We were watching a movie,” Isak said before gesturing to the pizza box. “We didn't eat it all, if you're hungry.” 

Jonas was nodding before stepping into the living room with trepidation, looking behind him to where Isak already knew Eskild was lurking. “Thanks,” he said. “I bumped into someone on the way home.” He held out an arm just as Eskild appeared, moving slowly into the space, hands thrust into his pockets and looking preoccupied by his thoughts. It wasn't a very Eskild entrance to say the least. 

“Hey,” he offered meekly. “I brought your coat, you left it the other night.” 

Isak nodded. “Thanks. There's a few slices, if you're hungry, too.” He didn't feel prickly for once, or on the defensive. This was the first time he'd seen Eskild since that clusterfuck of a night, and Isak just wanted to be calm. No one needed any more drama.

But Eskild was shaking his head. “I'm not hungry,” he muttered, still not looking at anyone. What was up with him?

Jonas was looking from Isak to Eskild before visibly discovering a get out clause. “I should take her up,” he said, coming over to Eva, still fast asleep. Kneeling by the sofa, he slid one arm under her knees and the other beneath her shoulders, before standing smoothly— _ mostly _ . 

“At least you get some exercise,” Isak snickered. 

Jonas shrugged as much as he could with his arms full of Eva. “It's kinda nice. I can pretend I'm a prince,” he grinned at the notion before looking down at Eva, who'd snuggled into his chest at this point. Then he hesitated before speaking. “You know, she’s been missing you—especially since Noora left. We’ve all been missing you since, well…” he trailed off but Isak didn’t need him to specify when he meant. When the fuck up had occured, months ago.

And for the first time, Isak didn’t feel agitated at the event being brought up. Maybe he was getting over it. Maybe there were more important things in life.

“I know I’ve been a shitty friend, I’ll be around more. I’ve missed you, too.” It surprised Isak how easy it was to admit, and the moment wasn’t awkward between them. 

Jonas simply smiled. “Good, it’s been nice having you around… even if you are playing ostrich,” he snorted and Isak tried to counter the claim—that he was sticking his head in the sand—but Jonas returned his focus to Eva. “C'mon sleeping beauty.” 

Isak decided—by this point—Eva was probably awake, she was just choosing to stay there and be coddled. She was probably smiling to herself too. He couldn't blame her; he'd probably do the exact same thing. Not that anyone was gonna pick him up like that, and not that he  _ wanted _ it. 

His gaze followed them out of the room, as soft as his thoughts, until they disappeared and he realised Eskild was studying him. There was no smirk, no knowing expression. He was just watching Isak, but there was something sad in his expression. 

Before Isak could question what was wrong, Eskild moved to the sofa, flopping down next to Isak and letting out a sigh as his head tilted back to stare at the ceiling. 

Ceiling staring. Isak knew that too well. It seemed to be contagious at the moment.

But this was far from what he'd been expecting. Isak had anticipated Eskild busting in to find him, trying to figure out what had happened like he was the Spanish inquisition. And then trying to fix things like he was Ray Donovan.

“Can I use you as a pillow?” he murmured. 

Isak snorted. “No.”

“I knew you loved Eva more than me,” he pouted. His heart wasn't really in it though. 

“It's a  _ different  _ kind of love,” Isak replied before regretting the answer and how easily Eskild could manipulate it into something Isak had not meant. But, surprisingly, Eskild just stayed quiet, gazing at nothing. “What the fuck is wrong with you? I half expected you to storm in and tie me up until you'd made me answer all your questions and I'd agreed to go along with whatever fucked up plan you thought was best.” 

There was a heartbeat of silence before Eskild responded. “I can still do the tying up thing, if you want,” he grinned, but it quickly fell away. So the person Isak was sat next to wasn't entirely  _ not  _ Eskild. “Not everything is about you, Isak,” he added, his tone tired and mildly harassed. 

“No, I didn't—I don't  _ want _ it to be about me. What's up with you? You can talk to me.” Isak nudged against him with his shoulder. 

Eskild looked at him out of the corner of his eye, like he was measutring Isak up. Then he let out another sigh. “If I tell you, you can’t tell anyone.”

Frowning, Isak nodded once. “Of course, who would I—”

“Not even Even,” he added, raising his eyebrows.

“It’s not like I could if I wanted to,” Isak retorted. Eskild seemed pretty certain that at some point he and Even would be on speaking terms. Isak wished he had the same optimism. “But I won’t say a word.”

Eskild sighed, long and heavy. “It’s about the club.”

“The new one or the old one?”

“New,” Eskild confirmed. “We have the venue, the contract, everything is wonderful… we are getting it at an amazing price. The website is ready to go, we have hosts lined up and patrons…” he trailed off and Isak furrowed his brows.

“That doesn’t sound like a problem, Eskild.”

“That isn’t the problem, well not the main part.” He chewed his lip, looking the most uncomfortable Isak had ever seen him. “I might have to ruin all that perfection.”

Isak blinked at the statement. “Why would you need to do that? Is this like how you always sabotage relationships cos they look to perfect? Cos if it is—”

Waving a hand, Eskild cut Isak’s sentence off. “No, no. Not like that. It’s the owner. I had dinner with him earlier to discuss the contract. The dinner was actually fucking amazing, you know the Plaza?”

Isak nodded bemused, Eskild was sidetracking himself with his own story. He opened his mouth to ask Eskild to get to the point but he must have gotten the gist from Isak’s expression. 

“Everything on paper is above board, but he’s asked that he use the venue for  _ meetings.  _ And by ask, I mean he’s told me that’s what’s going to happen.”

_ Meetings _ ? Why would that be bad? Isak had no idea the ins and outs of this business venture they were embarking on, so it was akin to him being thrown in the deep end. “I don’t think I follow, what’s wrong with meetings?”  

Eskild was fidgeting again. “I don’t think this guy’s businesses are all above board, so he could be meeting people to discuss… any fucking thing. Using the club as a cover.”

Isak made a silent  _ oh  _ as the penny dropped. “Can you not… plead ignorant? If anything happens you can say you didn’t know, right?”

Slumping back in the sofa, Eskild turned to him with a severe expression on his face. “Yes I could, Isak. That’s my dilemma. I can ignore this, and pretend it isn’t happening and everything we’ve worked hard on comes to fruition.”

Isak was left perplexed again. “So, why don’t you do that?”

“Do you know how much negative and illegal activity is associated with the community I’m trying to nurture?” Eskild began to explain, but not in a lecturing way, as if he were debating with his own conscience.  “A lot of people look down on it anyway, they think people are forced in someway. There is drug  _ and  _ harm association. I saw an article just last week that implied a sex trafficking and drugs ring was somehow caused—in one way or the other—by BDSM influence.” The sentence grew progressively in pitch before Eskild finished off in open frustration. 

“That’s bullshit shit—it’s ignorance.” Isak may not partake, but he knew enough to know the people Eskild hung around with—those that lived this way—we’re probably the most decent people he knew. Above all, consent was the cornerstone, no matter the seemingly shocking activities that occured. 

“And even if I do nothing, if I just let it happen, I can get away innocent. But my knowing and doing nothing makes me complicit. I would be condoning what he carries out there.” Eskild let his head loll back against the sofa; ceiling staring again.

Isak could understand the predicament he was in. It was a moral issue, and no matter what anyone thought of Eskild, you couldn’t say he did not live by morals—pretty good ones at that. 

“I don’t think you could live with that, Eskild,” he said quietly into the silence.

At the words, Eskild scrubbed at his face. He was obviously desperately frustrated. Then his hands dropped into his lap. “So, I’m going to fuck things up.”

Isak shrugged. “Just cancel the deal, you guys will find another venue. I know that—” he cut off as Eskild turned to him.

“The contract is signed, there’s no backing out without a big deal made. And I think this guy makes big deals about things.” He left the rest unsaid. Why would they choose to get into business with someone they didn’t trust? But Isak knew those questions wouldn’t help right now.

“So, you would have to call the police? I don’t know the procedure,” Isak said, he felt helpless. Eskild, Magnus and Even had all become involved in this idea, they had invested time and money— _ the money _ . “ _ You’ll lose the money if you get the police involved?” _

Eskild was nodding. “I have to transfer the money by Monday. I can’t very well get the police involved between then and now; there’s no evidence except  _ she said-he said _ . If we break contract now that we’ve signed, we still owe three months rent. Any which ever way I look at this, Isak, we’re fucked.”  

Isak didn’t know what to say. Monday was five days away, he couldn’t foresee anything happening in five days that would change the situation drastically. “Fuck, I don’t know what to say, Eskild. I think you have to commit to it now, even if it’s just long enough to witness things that could be used as evidence. If you’re gonna lose out, take the asshole with you.”

Eskild was nodding mournfully. “I think you’re right, but I don’t know how I’m gonna live with this.”

“You should tell Magnus and Even, they’ll understand. I’m sure they will see it from this perspective.”

But Eskild was shaking his head. “No, I can’t. Not now anyway. It was up to me to figure out if this guy was kosher, and I fucked it up.”

“But he sprung the trap after you signed the contract though, right?”

Eskild nodded again. “Yeah, but still… I had this gut feeling, you know?”

“Always trust your gut,” Isak murmured. It was a very Eskild phrase to live by, one he’d told Isak a million times before. “You gotta stop feeling guilty, you are one of the best people I’ve ever met. I know you didn’t mean for this to happen. And this guy—whatever shit he’s into—I bet he’s not walking around feeling bad. Don’t feel bad on his behalf,  _ please _ .” Isak urged. 

Surprise wasn’t the word for how Isak felt when Eskild looked at him close to tears. Wrapping both arms around him, Isak squeezed him in a fierce hug.

“We’ll figure it out, OK?”

Eskild nodded. “You’re not so shit at advice you know,” he muttered into Isak’s arm.

“Well, I could have told you that—” Isak began before being interrupted. 

“But you’re gonna have to work on these hugs, fuck Isak. Are you trying to kill me?”

Isak released him with a snort, shoving at his friend with his palm. “I try and soften up and this is what I get?”

But Eskild was laughing, that was a good sign. Maybe Isak had helped in someway, and that made him feel good. He’d been a very absent friend the last few months, there was a lot of making up he had to do. 

“Oh, before I forget, you need to call Sana. She’s worried.”

It was Isak’s turn to sigh. He knew, she’d been trying to call him at least once a day and he’d avoided her. She was the one he’d confined in, the one who he’d allowed himself to be happy in front of. To tell her how much this had fucked up already? He just wasn’t ready to do that.

_ Or  _ he hadn’t been. It didn’t seem so fucked up anymore. The one thing that kept niggling at Isak was the fact it had all been a secret; Isak had been so honest with Even. Was he going to tell him about this part of his life? Or carry on with the both of them playing out in separate dimensions?

“Isak?” Eskild asked softly, rousing him from his thoughts.

“Yeah, sure. I’ll call her in the morning,” he said. 

There was a pause, one that would usually be followed by Eskild’s questions. Instead, he sat back in his chair and looked to be biting his tongue. Whatever tactic this was he was playing, it looked like it physically hurt. “What, Eskild? I know you wanna say something.”  _ Something _ ? He’d be lucky if it was a one hour lecture. 

But he shook his head. “I’ve been recently reminded that you can work through problems on your own, you just need your own space.”

Isak frowned at him. “Who told you that?”

“Even. A few weeks ago.”

A few weeks ago? Why had they been talking about him? Blinking in confusion, Isak decided to ask, despite it bringing up the subject he was trying to ignore. “Why were you talking about me?”

“He was defending you. Me and Mags said you were grumpy, or something.”

“But I  _ am  _ grumpy.”

Eskild snorted. “Tell Even that, he thinks you are this delightful little baby bird that can do no wrong. He’s been mooning over you for weeks now, he just didn’t realise it.”

His mouth went dry and he could feel heat in his cheeks.  _ Baby bird _ … he missed Even calling him that. “Weeks ago?” 

“Yes, you two are particularly thick skulled in this department. A blind man could see what the fuck was happening. Well, Magnus missed it, but I swear you could switch out Vilde for a fucking cat and he wouldn’t notice until he started coughing up hairballs.”

Isak laughed, but his mind was mostly elsewhere, despite the visual of Magnus making out with a cat being somewhat hilarious. “I still don’t know what happened, and then Mags said—” he inhaled deeply. Isak knew whatever he said to Eskild would be in confidence. But the truth was Eskild probably already knew this part of Even—Isak had already figured that much out by their way of association. 

“I know what he told you, and I knew about  _ that  _ since I met Even. I was trying to get him to tell you, and he was going to. I don’t think he would have kept it back intentionally.” Eskild looked at him pensively, and Isak worked his mouth trying to figure out where to begin.

“I think he was trying to tell me, I kept distracting him before you got there on Saturday.” Now Isak thought about it, Even had held back. He’d been firm about them talking, he’d even said  _ hopefully  _ when talking about making it up to Isak’s balls—Isak tried not to smile at the memory. Now he understood that Even had been preparing himself for Isak not to want anything to do with him, after being honest. 

So, Even  _ was  _ going to tell him. 

“ _ Distracting _ ,” Eskild mused with a grin, before turning back to the serious mode he was assuming tonight. “And how do you feel about it?”

Isak shrugged. “I don’t know. It’s one thing to take it as a statement, as something just said. But I saw him… go off. You know? That hurt.”

Eskild shook his head. “It was all fucked up. I told him to go home, I don’t know why he decided to go after you.”

“He was saving me,” Isak murmured.

“From what?”

“Some guy in a suit, sweaty and… I don’t know—uptight? He was trying to talk to me and then Even was there. But I was trying to get to him anyway, so…” Isak shrugged. Maybe it would have been fucked anyway, or maybe they would have left together. There was no use in trying to figure out alternative universes now. There was just this one he had to play with.

It was Eskild’s turn to make a silent  _ oh.  _ “I think I know who that was,” he said. Before Isak could question, Eskild was shaking his head. “You probably don’t want to know. But yes, saving you was probably what he thought he was doing.”

Isak took that at face value; he probably didn’t want to know. 

“So, now what Isak? Why are you hiding here?”

Floundering, Isak tried to remember why he was still here. “I was confused and I couldn’t think with him right there. I was hurt and he was hurt… I didn’t know what else to do. And he came home and I knew he’d been with a client…. doing  _ whatever _ .” He tried not to sound bitter about that last part, but it was clear how he felt.

Eskild was nodding. “And now… do you think you’re ready to talk to him?”

“I don’t know if he’s ready to talk, or if he wants to. He hasn’t called or anything.”

Pursing his lips, Eskild looked to be visibly gathering his words in a very careful manner. “You think that Even is solid or… I don't know— _ indestructible _ . He's not. I can imagine you probably freaked out in that room and it hit him where he's vulnerable. As long as I've known him he hasn't felt romantically for anyone, and—from what I can tell—he never has. But he fell for you, and hard—if he thought you were rejecting him,” Eskild shrugged, leaving the rest unsaid. 

“But you don't  _ know  _ that's what happened?” This was all obviously Eskild’s hypothesis, or had he spoken to Even? Need was suddenly very strong in Isak to know exactly what Even had been thinking, because he hadn’t imagined Even in the world, alone and feeling vulnerable. The idea startled him. 

“Well, I would know better if either of you actually picked up your damn phones,” Eskild said, exasperation heavy in his voice. 

“Even hasn't spoken to you?” Need was turning to panic, Isak could hear it in his own ears.

He shook his head. “But I do know for sure he wasn't in his right mind when he left that room. I've never seen him like that.” Now he was looking inward, concern on his face. “I'm worried about him.” 

Isak nodded. He could see why, and now  _ he  _ was worried, too. “Fuck, Eskild, why didn't you come speak to me sooner?” 

His mouth dropped open at the question. “Are you fucking kidding me? I  _ try _ to approach this how I'm told is best and still I'm wrong?” 

“I think that's probably about right.” Isak shot back. But his mind wasn’t to the task of a verbal back and forth, now he was solely thinking about Even. Was he OK? 

Could he go back now? Would Even be there? Or would he be out with a client? When Isak had first moved in, Even was out all the time. And then he started spending more evenings at home… 

Grabbing his phone from the coffee table, Isak unlocked it. Luckily, there were no notifications since he'd put it on silent, turned the vibration mode off  _ and  _ turned it upside down. 

_ Why was he such an idiot?  _

“Nothing,” he muttered, as Eskild looked over his shoulder. 

“Call him. No, let's just go there. I'll drive you—”

But the statement was cut short when the screen lit up. Isak's heart stopped when Even’s name showed on the screen. 

With a desperate look at Eskild, who nodded emphatically, Isak answered the call, pressing the phone tight to his ear. 

“ _ Even _ ?” His voice was panicked and he had no idea why. But instead of a reply there was silence. No, not silence, Isak could hear laboured breathing. 

“Even,” he repeated, his stomach twisting sickeningly. Something was wrong, his gut was telling him.  _ “What's wrong?”  _

He heard Even swallow thickly before letting out another breath. 

_ “I'm sorry.” _

Even’s voice was raspy, it sent chills down Isak's spine. The line went dead. 

“Isak, what did he fucking say?” Eskild was trying to gain his attention, but Isak was staring at the screen as it went dark. 

“We have to go.”

###  Even

It hadn't been that bad, to a point. Even had been bored, but that wasn't such a bad thing. Could be better, could be worse; story of his life. Except the time he’d shared with Isak, he couldn’t imagine that being improved in any way.

He'd arrived at the hotel a little early, enough time to settle in the bar and order a drink or two. Even had the feeling that the hotel rendezvous happened after dinner meetings. Sometimes they would go up to the restaurant, but mostly they'd stay in the bar before Mr Bucharest decided it was time to fuck. He would rarely eat here, Even assumed that was because it was what he'd done prior to their  _ meetings. _

Turns out his assumptions had been right. After an hour or so of subtle boasting—letting Even know exactly where he’d been and what he’d been up to, to somehow make Even feel flattered being in his very presence—he had moved on to his current business ventures. Even had been making all the right noises, and posing the right leading questions to keep him going—and feeling high on his own ego. This was a part of the job, he remembered this much at least. 

It was at this point that things went from dull to disconcerting. Mr Bucharest started explaining, at depth, his newest scheme; renting out one of his premises as a club, which would be a very convenient cover for running some business that needed a little more discretion.

He didn't need to specify anything more, Even was onto the fact that this wasn’t honest work and he really didn’t want to pry further. He also didn’t need to confirm what Even had also figured; he was talking about  _ their  _ club. 

They were fucked if this was the case. He couldn’t hold this information back from Eskild and Magnus, and it  _ would  _ jeopardise all of their plans. 

Even knew he’d screwed everyone over. If Eskild hadn’t met him, he wouldn’t have dragged him into this mess along with Magnus. And if he hadn’t met Eskild then he wouldn’t have met Isak, and Isak would have been spared all this bullshit. Luckily, Isak would be free of all of this shit. 

He didn’t have the capacity to estimate quite how fucked they were right at this minute because most of his energy had to go into playing Romeo. But the news curdled in his stomach, making bile rise in his throat.

Romeo wasn’t hungry and Romeo could hold his drink, mostly because Even kept going to the toilet to throw up whatever he put down. It worked out—he supposed—because, if he wasn’t that drunk, he couldn’t fuck up. That was the theory. 

Romeo was wearing thin, he knew that it would. The suit just didn’t fit Even anymore; this would be the last time he embarked on this lifestyle. Even had come to that decision last week, but for very different reasons; his body didn't want to be unfaithful to Isak.

He slipped in and out of it like a dream, going for ten, fifteen, twenty minutes at a time, believing in what he was doing and acting out what he knew he should, and then the fog cleared and he could see everything for the fake bullshit that it was. He would switch from first person Romeo, to third person and omnipotent Even, hanging somewhere in the room and watching this shit show. 

It made him sick.  _ He  _ made him sick. 

Mr Bucharest held his hand up for the bill. It was time to go. Even downed the last of his drink, willing it to stay down, and then he followed—in a dreamlike trance—to the suite. 

He made a show, as he always did, pouring more wine and gushing about where it was from, how much it cost, the food it would pair with… and then came what was to be expected. Even undressed him—Mr Bucharest insisted on that. He took his time, trying to make sure it was measured and composed. Pressing his eyes closed, he pushed Even to the back of his mind, relying on his senses alone. Soon he was naked, and skin was on his his. He heard the guy asking him for his mouth and Even screamed from somewhere; his mouth was Isak’s.

The shell of him made an excuse: he heard his voice saying that he needed it now, that it had been too long, that he wanted to be fucked already. The voice had been convincing enough to get just that. 

First on his knees on the bed, his hair being tugged and fingers biting into his shoulder. Mr Bucharest didn’t bother with any form of prep, if Even could still feel it, in this numbed state, it probably wasn’t all that comfortable. He knew that was an understatement. But this position was preferable, the less he had to worry about his expressions or his reactions. 

Even tensed when the guy wanted him on his back, knowing this was going to be more difficult. Mr Bucharest had an ego, this was never just about him getting off, he wanted to know he was desirable, that Romeo was enjoying it just as much he was. 

He should laugh at this guy really, because—holy shit—what a lot of bullshit. How much did he pay to everyone around him to gain the exact reaction he wanted? Didn’t he know everyone around him must be fake as fuck? They would react the way  _ he  _ wanted, rather than honestly? What an awful, pitiful, existence. 

But he had to focus—focus on whatever would get the job done. And  _ egotistical-fucking-Mr-goddamn-Bucharest _ , grunting and panting and sweating over him, wasn’t going to cut it. And he  _ needed  _ something to cling to other than a hostility burning deep inside, as fingers tightened their grip on his thighs and the guy slammed into him again. Did he even know how to fuck? Even was complicit in reassuring these guys in their terrible sex game. It was probably why this guy’s wife was cheating on him. The thought almost made him smirk, as he laid there receiving the shortcomings of this greedy, selfish, asshole.

His body was working against him. Just how he couldn’t wear Romeo anymore, he couldn’t just make himself hard, not for the sake of someone else—he was well and truly done with the faking. He’d felt something real now, and this was like ash in his mouth. 

Even let his mind drift back—only a few days ago—to the anticipation of breakfast; to running out in the night to find what he needed; to standing on the balcony in the rain; to feeling Isak’s skin beneath his hands. 

The feeling of fulfillment, when his lips met Isak’s, or when their bodies pressed together—melding, melting—was more immense than anything he’d ever felt. Every breath, every finger stroke, every word—it had been so defined. It was like Even had been living in black and white and suddenly colour filled his world. Isak had tasted like the final breath before a plunge into the unknown, but—as it turned out—the unknown was euphoria. A place where they didn’t need to breathe anymore. They just needed each other.

The noises he could hear morphed into Isak, all he could hear was Isak now. Every single moan he’d made, was on repeat in his mind. Every single movement of his body against Even’s was now all he felt. 

Even could feel himself harden now, and he gripped his own cock. Hopefully, the imposter on top of him would see exactly what he wanted to see. 

Now he wandered into a place he’d previously barred off; what could’ve happened. He could visualize Isak’s form etched into his mind—the parts of him he’d seen—but now he undressed him further, noting every imagined inch of skin on him, the texture of him as Even would run his hands over his body;  _ all  _ of him. He imagined he knew how Isak would sound when he put his mouth on him.

In his daydream, he rolled over Isak, he kissed him, he held him, and nails dug into him desperately, sweat was the only thing between them. He would have loved him just how Isak wanted to be loved. Pain hit him with that thought, not physical but emotional. He wanted Isak so bad, that if he couldn’t have him again, it could all end here and Even would be OK with that. 

_ Fuck, he needed to stay hard. _

How would Isak have loved him back? This was a new consideration for Even; the thought of someone pleasuring him. And Even imagined Isak’s fingers would creep over him curiously, with trepidation but also fearlessly—if that was possible. That was how Isak lived, it would be how he loved. And Even could see his eyes, innocent but wild, and his mouth had felt so at home on Even’s throat. What would that feel like if he’d worked down Even’s stomach? 

Even knew he was groaning now, Mr Bucharest was probably taking the credit for Isak’s work, but fuck him. 

_ Fuck him. _

Isak would take his time, and be pedantic about getting things exactly right, because that’s how Isak was. And he was bossy, with Even anyway. He found himself biting on his lower lip as he grinned thinking about Isak taking control, teasing him, driving him wild… 

Fuck, fantasies had never been something for Even. He’d never wanted them, or needed them. But this… this was fucking working. 

The image of Isak taking his cock in that perfect mouth, burst into Even’s mind and all he could see were hazel-green wide eyes, and all he could feel was soft lips and those low noises moaned onto his cock, and then there was that warm, sharp tongue of his… 

“ _ Fuck, Isak,” _

The fantasy shattered and the world froze. Everything was still and Even knew he’d fucked up. This was fucking bad.  _ Worse  _ than bad.

“The fuck did you just say?”

Even opened his eyes, knowing he would find open fury on Mr Bucharest’s face. He wasn’t wrong. Of all the clients he could have called out someone else’s name with, he had to pick egomaniac.

There was no going back now. Even shook his head, wondering what sort of bullshit excuse he could use. But there weren’t any. He just hoped that the guy would fuck him harder because of it, rather than what he thought was coming. But his experience was right.

***

A hand was around his throat, and this wasn’t air play. He was pushing down cruelly on Even’s airway. He tried to swallow but it was futile, all he could do was cling on to the guy’s wrist and shake his head.

“I didn’t mean—” he wheezed before the hand tightened on the words. There was no talking and no breathing.

He pulled out of Even roughly before his freehand came down on Even’s skull, all four knuckles colliding with his temple. Maybe it had hurt him just as much as it hurt Even, but he doubted it.

He was hauled up by his neck, feeling as weak as a kitten, before the guy threw him across the room. Even skidded across the floor, his only concern was sucking air into his lungs and massaging his throat. He tried to shift onto his knees but the blow had disorientated him, his head was spinning from that and the lack of oxygen.

_ “Please—” _

But he was cut off. The guy had made his way over, and his foot crashed into Even’s stomach. He crumpled back onto the floor coughing. 

“You fucking dirty whore,” he spat, punctuating each word with a kick. Even tried to move so the blows wouldn’t land anywhere tender but no matter how he flailed, the guy was adamant at making sure he reached every inch of Even. All he could do was put his hands over his face to protect his head.

But Even had been here before. He’d been beaten before, and just like how he would leave his body while fucking Mr Bucharest, he left his body for this. Pushing his consciousness to the back of his skull, he let the guy lean in to slap his face before hauling him up by his hair.

It would be over soon, he told himself. Anger always petered out eventually. There were only so many times you could hit someone before your arm got tired. And it was that that would stop Mr Bucharest, not empathy. Even knew the type of guy he was, he’d known men like him since he was a child.

Back then—when he went to this quiet, dark, place—he would will it to end there. Hope that the blackness would take over and he wouldn’t need to open his eyes again. Now—when he was there and this bleakness spread out all around him—he found a spark of panic in him.

_ Isak. Isak. Isak. _

He couldn’t go without saying goodbye, he didn’t want to leave without saying sorry. It was the first time he’d had anything in that darkness. 

Panic wasn’t the word, Even was fucking terrified. All the experience he had in this meant nothing at all now, not when there was something to lose. This felt like the first time he’d been beaten, stepping between his passed out mother and the very first guy. He was back there: a kid, with nothing but too much fucking courage for his own good, crying out for someone that wouldn’t come.

A wall was at his back now, and the hand was back on his throat again—tighter than before. Spit landed on his face. The guy was saying something, but Even’s heart was beating so hard in his ears, he couldn’t hear what was said—not that it wouldn’t be anything he hadn’t heard before. He was sure his eyes were open but his vision was TV static now.

But he felt Mr Bucharest lean in close enough to speak into Even’s ear. He heard it this time.

_ “I don’t wanna see your fucking whore face again, you understand? You piece of shit.” _

He wasn’t given a chance to answer—not that he could—as he was hurled again, Even collided with another wall before he collapsed on the floor. The only thing he could do was wheeze as he breathed past the burning pain in his throat, and try to relax as the ache began to spread all through his body. He felt something land on him and then a door slammed shut. 

***

By the time Even had enough energy to open his eyes, he’d already figured he was outside of the suite. He was bloody, and bruised, and naked, in the hallway of a fucking hotel, looking exactly like what he was:

_ Cheap, worthless, dirty. _

But Even knew he needed to move, he needed to get away fast, and hopefully escape the indignity of someone finding him this way. 

The things that had landed on him were his clothes. He winced, pulling them on quickly, before checking his pockets. Everything was there. With a lot of undignified grunts, and mostly the walls’ support, Even hobbled to his feet before making a slow path to the elevator. 

His head pulsed with each step he took, it felt like it would burst. The noise and bustle of the hotel atrium buzzed outside of a bubble he seemed to be inhabiting. He didn't see the confused glances shot at him from the staff as he practically fell through the door. All he was aware of was the shooting jolts of pain that ran through his limbs and chest, like hands and feet were still raining blows down on him. He just needed to be home where he could rinse the taste of blood and vomit from his mouth, where he could sit in the bath and wait for motivation to descend on him to get out, to carry on with life; to live.

This beating was bad, but it was nothing against the anguish he still felt inside. How could he miss someone so entirely? Had he always been this empty, but just never had a comparison? And he didn't regret the thoughts he'd had of Isak, no matter what it had earned him. But he couldn't think of him like that again, he was too good to be held in Even’s skull in that way. 

He as good as collapsed into the driver’s seat, slouching over the steering wheel like he'd ran a marathon. It wasn't far from the apartment, he just had to find strength to drive. 

Pulling down the sunshade, Even frowned at his reflection. His eye was sore from that one blow to his temple, but luckily that was the only hit to his head. The slap had cut his lip—that's why he could taste blood—but that would heal quickly. The bruising on his eye was already swelling up and mottling. He would just have to lay low for a few days, not that he had anywhere to be. He could afford some absence from uni. 

Taking a deep, painful breath, Even tentatively felt at his ribs. It didn't feel like anything was broken, if the guy had been wearing shoes it probably would have been a different story and Even would most likely be driving himself to the hospital. 

Instead he started the engine, all his remaining purpose in life aimed at just getting himself home and running a bath. 

The world was a blur around him as he tried to focus out of his good eye, just maintaining concentration on the road markings and the lights. His mind was numb, he was in practical mode—survival mode. 

It wasn't until he'd parked up, stumbled into his home, cast his clothes on the floor and run the bath, that everything hit him. It hit as he stated at his reflection, bruises rising to the surface of his skin, like bodies that had been weighed down in a lake; it was only a certain amount of time until the rotting mess resurfaced. 

Even lit one candle and turned all the lights off so he couldn’t see himself.

He was alone, and all his defences were gone. Even couldn't even begin to begrudge their loss because it had come in exchange for those moments with Isak. It had been the only warmth he'd known. 

_ It was better to have loved and lost…  _

He could see the value in the statement. But he  _ was  _ alone now, and he didn't want to be. 

Submerged to his chin in the water, his eyes kept flicking to his phone and back; a restless itch in the back of his mind. He'd tried to bury it, first by carefully emerging from the water to grab a bottle of wine, and the second time standing to grab pills from the cabinet. 

Even shook two ibuprofen into his palm, slinging them in his mouth before chasing it down with the wine. That should numb something, and hopefully not just leave him leaning over the toilet bowl again. 

The itch didn't leave him though, it seemed to tick louder with every second that passed, connected to the way his blood throbbed through his veins. A crack in him forced that pain to emerge and act, it forced sense from him. 

He had his phone and it was pressed to the side of his face, there was ringing in his ear that wasn't just due to how his head seemed to shatter under the pressure of his blood flow. 

And then he heard it: Isak's voice— _ Isak saying his name _ . 

Even’s eyes closed as he simply tried to breathe. 

It wasn't until that moment, when he was attempting to find something to say— _ anything _ good enough to be uttered to Isak as an explanation—that he felt the soreness in his throat. He remembered those hands around his neck.

Why was he doing this to Isak? Hadn't he already dragged them all deep enough into his mess? Why would he make it any worse? What was he expecting? For Isak to come to his rescue? For him to see Even like this? No, he couldn't do that to Isak.

Isak repeated his name and Even held back a sob. There was only one thing that needed to be said. 

“I'm sorry.” And he was, for too many things than he could list.

He hung up, he couldn't waste anymore of Isak’s life, he hoped he flew free. 

Sinking back into the water, Even closed his eyes. Emotion was pricking the surface, needles in his eyes where tears wanted out. But he had no strength to cry, he also had no strength to deny those tears. 

Silently, Even let them fall, dripping down his face before becoming obsolete in the bath water. 

Obsolete, just like him.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ...It's gonna get better


	8. Chapter Seven

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I didn't think I'd see you again. I was scared I wouldn't see your face, I didn't want to—” he broke off, letting out a weak breath that covered another sob. “I was scared of it being over and not saying sorry to you.”
> 
> Isak held him tighter. He knew the it Even spoke of didn't mean their relationship, he'd been entertaining the idea he wouldn't make it out alive of whatever hell he'd been in.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a shorter chapter than I'm used to posting in this fic, in truth there are two more scenes that were supposed to be in this chapter.  
> But I have to focus on my Big Bang fic for the rest of the week and I didn't want to leave y'all in limbo. The next section is one I was finding sticky to write too (if any of you know how I write, you'll know what scenes take me longer to write ... huehuehue).  
> I'll be back on this asap, I didn't want to half ass the next scene as it's pretty fucken crucial.  
> Enjoy!  
> Love, Becs

##  Chapter Seven

###  Isak

Isak quietly pushed open the front door to find the apartment dark and still. As soon as he stepped foot inside, he was confronted with a flashback from the night they went to the opera house. He'd come home, just like this, but his emotions had been different. Nerves had bit at him then, but tonight Isak just felt ice cold fear. Its fingers curled around his spine, threatening to break him. Isak decided it was a miracle his body was still functioning at all, even in the most basic tasks such as walking and breathing. 

Just like that night—it felt like it could have been a year ago now—Isak looked out onto the balcony. There was nothing out there but the silver light of the moon, spilling in through the sliding doors and spreading across the carpet. Like the ocean on a calm and peaceful night, but it was a ruse—Isak was sure of it. There were currents beneath the placid surface.

Kicking off his shoes, he made the same path towards the bathroom; his footsteps were light and careful, like shattered glass had been scattered. He passed the fridge and—even in the dark—his eyes honed in on magnets arranged purposefully:

I M1S YOU

Isak’s heart thudded painfully in his chest. He should have been here, they’d been alone, without each other. That just shouldn’t be—not anymore, not while they’d found each other.

_ Why had he stayed away so long? Is this what Eva meant? Was he too late? _

Standing outside the bathroom door, he tried to gather himself. He'd never felt so petrified in his entire life, even when shit had gone down at school, Isak had been more angry than anything else. This was wholly different. 

A crack had been left, a dull light that shone weakly through the slither between door and wall told him a candle was lit. Even was inside, and he could hear nothing else but the slow, torturous dripping of a tap. Drawing air deep into his lungs, and standing as tall as he could, Isak pushed against the door and let it swing open.

Even may have been in the same place as that night when Isak had burst in on him, desperate to piss, but his reactions couldn't be any more different. Before, he'd been utterly unfazed by the intrusion and was completely relaxed in front of Isak, despite being naked. But tonight, the person he saw was a polar opposite.

Even lurched up in panic, knees up against his chest with his arms wrapped around them, and his forehead pressed to his kneecaps. He looked small. Isak never thought he'd use that term when describing Even. 

That night it had been warm, humid, cloudy—like a dream. Tonight it was stark, the bluish hue of the tiled space was cold, the single candle sent dappling shadows over everything, like monsters were hiding and shifting in the room. Clothes were discarded on the floor uncaringly, an open bottle of wine was on the corner of the tub but there was no glass, and on the sink there was a bottle of tablets—lid off. 

Isak’s stomach turned; fear had a knife now and it was dragging the tip down his spine. He swallowed thickly, trying to figure out where to start or what to do. Several different scenarios were trying to play out in his mind, but the worry was cut through, coldly and impassively, by Even’s words.

“Don't you ever fucking knock?” he mumbled. 

Isak’s mouth was left open. Even had never spoken to him so indifferently—it hurt. “I was worried,” he managed. “S-sorry.” 

Isak could see Even shaking his head slowly, face still hidden. “There's nothing to worry about,” he said, continuing in that same emotionless and flat voice. “You should go.” 

Hesitating in the doorway, Isak wasn't sure what he should do. Eskild had driven like a madman because of Isak’s gut feeling; Even had called, just to say sorry and then hung up. But Even didn't want him here… 

No, he wasn't about to dismiss his instincts. If he left now, Isak would worry what Even might do. This wasn't the Even he knew and he couldn't judge—in good conscience—what he was capable of. Especially with the evidence at hand. 

“I don't want to,” he stated quietly. 

Even still didn't look at him. What had happened to him? “You need to go, Isak. Just—” Even broke off, emotion was starting to claw its way through his words. He cleared his throat. “ _ Just fuck off _ .” 

Isak took a step backwards, like the words were a physical blow. The feeling of rejection made his blood run cold and he wanted to go— _ now _ . He wanted to withdraw into himself and self pity, to nurse his wounds… 

He'd taken another backwards step from the room when that thought hit him, at the same time as his eyes fell from the dark and lonely shape that was Even, onto the clothes—discarded like autumn leaves. The shirt was white—or it  _ should  _ be—but there was a dark stain there. It looked black almost, maybe brown. The light flickered brighter for a moment to reveal a hint of crimson before it was dark again. 

Blood. 

_ Wounds. _

Isak’s eyes snapped back to Even. He hadn't moved an inch, but now that Isak looked, some of those dappled shadows were not shadows. They were bruises. Then he noticed the way Even was crouched, the way his arms wrapped around himself and where his hands tried to cover; he was trying to hide it from Isak. 

Without thinking, Isak crossed the floor, sinking to his knees next to the tub. Working his mouth, he tried to fight past his fear to speak. “What happened?” he asked softly. Now he was closer he could see more marks, purplish-red fingerprints were on his throat. “Even,” he pushed when silence met him. “ _ Tell me. _ ” 

“You should go.” This time the refusal was weaker. 

Isak was shaking his head for the benefit of no one but himself. “I'm not going anywhere,” he said quietly. There was no way he was going to leave Even again. But what had he been doing while this was happening? He'd been sitting in a spare room in a house that wasn't his, feeling sorry for himself. 

His eyes kept darting from bruise to bruise, and with each movement the anger aimed at his own stupid actions began to multiply. 

Their connection had always been soothing, and he was sure if he could just touch Even, maybe it would unfreeze this iciness that surrounded them. Isak reached out, his fingertips barely touching Even’s shoulder, but pain recoiled and lashed at him when Even flinched at his touch. 

_ Who had done this?  _

Isak was seething, he wanted to rage, he wanted to break the person who had hurt Even. Anger and terror were waging a war inside of him, it made him shake with the force of feeling. But he refused to let his own pain at Even’s reaction to his touch push him away. This wasn't about him.

“I'm sorry,” he said. Isak’s throat was closing on the words. “I'm sorry I wasn't here.” 

Even turned his head to peer at Isak with one eye. That one eye was darkened, there was a cut on his eyebrow where it met his temple, and Isak's stomach twisted. He was going to be sick—with anxiety and loathing and anger. Isak dropped his head, resting his forehead on the edge of the tub. He couldn't look because he knew  _ he  _ was to blame for this. 

But Even shook his head. “This isn't your fault,” he said thickly. “You shouldn't have to see this. Just… you should just go, Isak.  _ Please _ .” 

Isak was shaking his head again. Instead he decided to be practical. He plunged a hand into the water, uncaring of how it soaked his jacket. “It's cold, how long have you been sitting like this?” 

As if the words were a cue, Even shivered. “It doesn't matter, Isak—”

“I'm not leaving you,” Isak said firmly. And he had to be as adamant with his chin as he was with the words because it wanted to weaken. It wanted to give in and tremble, shake like the way he felt inside, like the way his hands were. But this wasn't about him now, everything else was bullshit. 

Leaning back from the tub, Isak grabbed the clothes and threw them in the sink. He wasn't even going to try and clean out the stains, he'd throw them away and replace them. Whatever the cost. 

Even began to frown at him. “I've had worse than this, I'll survive,” he muttered. 

The words were said so matter of factly that Isak knew it to be plain truth. Fear was making paper cuts in his heart, but now his determination was rising against that emotion. He would uncover all these wrongs and he would make up for them— _ somehow _ . Even didn't deserve any of this. 

“You will,” Isak agreed, almost absentmindedly as he began to make a mental note of every single bruise and graze that he could see. “And I'll make sure you do. I’m also not gonna let you sit in a cold bath until you catch pneumonia.” 

He was back against the tub, dithering for a heartbeat before committing to the action. Uncaring of how Even flinched at his touch, his arm pushed back into the frigid water, trying to pry Even’s arms from around his knees. 

“Isak—” Even tried to argue and pull weakly away from him. But Isak continued to shake his head. If he didn't carry on, then he'd fall apart and Even would be wiping his tears. He couldn't do that. Not now. 

“I'm gonna get you out of the tub, and make you warm. If you're hungry I'll get you some food.” Isak began to list out loud his intentions to keep himself focussed.

“This isn't your problem,” Even’s voice was weaker now. His forehead was pressed to his kneecaps again; he couldn't look at Isak.

“Fuck that,” he grunted. He wanted to say so much more. Even was part of him now, how could this not be his problem? “I'm making it my problem,” he paused, trying to wrap his arms around Even, he would need to help him stand. But what he’d just said sounded too cold, his thoughts were too overwhelming to offload now—they had time for words later. “You are not alone, OK? You don't need to be alone, and I won't let you be—either way.” 

Even tensed in a final defiance to letting Isak see this darkness he was dwelling in, before his eyes closed. His shoulders hunched forward and Isak felt a small lurch run through his body as he tried hard to subdue a sob. 

Then he gave in, thawing to Isak’s touch and leaning into him, Even’s head lolled onto his shoulder. “I'm sorry,” he whispered before his chest rose and fell sharply. 

Isak bit down hard on his lower lip. He had to be brave and strong right now. “You don't have anything to be sorry for,” he stated, curving himself around Even. He'd been missing the feel of Even in his arms the last few days, and despite this not being exactly how he had imagined it, it still completed him. 

“What are you doing?” he asked. And Isak knew he didn't mean right now. This was a wider question, he probably knew that Isak was aware of what he did—either through Eskild or Magnus. He'd been preparing for a loss, and now was most likely trying to work out what he could cling to—what lifeline he could trust. 

“I'm saving you,” Isak replied quietly. “You saved me, remember? It's what we do,” he closed his eyes on the tears that threatened, before pushing a soft kiss to Even’s temple, just above the cut.

Even inhaled, it stopped and started as he fought his own emotions. His hands found Isak’s arms, gripping to him tightly, trying to burrow into him. 

“I didn't think I'd see you again. I was scared I wouldn't see your face, I didn't want to—” he broke off, letting out a weak breath that covered another sob. “I was scared of it being over and not saying sorry to you.” 

Isak held him tighter. He knew the  _ it _ Even spoke of didn't mean their relationship, he'd been entertaining the idea he wouldn't make it out alive of whatever hell he'd been in. Isak found he was shaking his head vehemently again, trying not to let the idea take root. 

“I wouldn't let you off that easily. You're stuck with this face,” he said into the crown of Even’s head. He tried a laugh but it was weak. “It's over now, OK? Let me take care of you.” 

There was a pause, then Even was nodding. “OK,” he whispered. 

A few moments passed where they simply clung to each other before Isak was heaving him onto his feet; Even felt lighter than he expected. Isak cringed at himself and how embarrassed he'd been about nakedness the last time they were in this room together. That notion, as he helped Even step out of the tub and grabbed a towel for him, seemed juvenile. What was wrong or impure about this? The honest flesh of Even? 

After pocketing the tablets—he saw they were ibuprofen—Isak kept himself focussed on getting them both to the bedroom. He tried not to eye the darkening patches that spread themselves over Even’s skin, he tried to block out the winces of pain that left Even’s mouth so it wouldn’t make him quiver with fury, but it was impossible. Isak had gone from feeling relatively little, to every single fucking emotion under the sun in the last few weeks. 

Even leant against him as Isak guided him down the hall, but the extra weight wasn’t ungainly. Maybe the gym sessions had helped—or maybe he’d just grown the fuck up. 

The sigh of relief that came from Even, as Isak helped him into bed, soothed him—if only but a small measure. He made short work of turning on the side lamp and bringing the covers over Even, before lying beside him and gently rubbing a towel over Even’s damp hair. 

All the while, blue eyes watched him, unblinking. Every so often a tear broke away from Even’s lashes, and Isak very diligently wiped each one away with his thumb. He never thought he would see Even looking sad, but he had to stop holding him up to a perfect standard. 

Besides, imperfections were what made someone perfect, not a pristine finish. 

“Baby, how many pills did you take? And how much wine?”

The corners of Even’s mouth pulled down when Isak said  _ baby,  _ and his eyes closed. The tender word visibly gouging at emotions, Isak would guess relief and solace that Even hadn’t expected to feel. But he shook his head softly.

“I just took two for the pain. I drank them down with the wine—a mouthful. It won’t kill me.” 

“It wouldn’t dare,” Isak murmured, stroking hair away from Even’s face. He tried not to let his gaze linger on the bruised eye. “Are there any more cuts? I have antiseptic.”

Even shook his head. “Just my face,” he replied. 

That was good—less chance of infection, and Even could stay wrapped up and warm without having to endure Isak pawing at him, and cleaning wounds. The one on his brow was already clean, it wasn’t deep either. And there was a small split on his lip, but mouth wounds almost always healed quickly. 

“I’m gonna get you some water, OK?” Isak said, fishing the bottle of pills from his pocket and placing them on the bed side table.

“OK,” he murmured. 

“Maybe this is a stupid question, but are you hungry?”

And to Isak’s delight, Even snorted a small laugh, his lips pulling up at the corners into a shaky smile. He shook his head again. “I’m OK, but I will eat in the morning—I promise. I just want to be here with you,” he peered up at Isak, and Isak could have sworn he heard his heart burst into a million seperate pieces before melding together again, completely reforged. “I’ve been wanting to ask you to stay in my bed since the night you fell asleep here. It feels right—you keep the monsters away.”

Isak was shushing him before the sentence was up, because he was going to start crying soon and he wasn’t sure he would be able to stop. “Well, if you’d asked me back then we probably would have saved a lot of beating around the bush,” Isak said, serving the words with a soft grin. 

“I was going to,” Even replied, his voice was still raspy. Isak tried not to think about how hard someone would have had to hold him by his throat to have this effect. “But then you went all weird.”

Chewing on his lower lip, Isak decided to strike up a bargain. “If I tell you what happened, will you promise to rest your voice?”

And that smile appeared again, it was weak but it was Even’s smile and Isak could feel warmth spreading through him. 

“I will,” he replied.

“And you’ll drink some lemon tea with honey? It will help soothe you?”

Even rolled his eyes, but his smile was still there. “OK, baby. You’re the boss.”

The words made him shiver with contentment. God he’d missed this, he’d missed Even, his voice, his  _ everything _ . “OK,” Isak began, his cheeks already heating. “That night I woke up, and I couldn’t sleep because you were right there and I was just staring at you, and you were breathing pretty loud—”

“Breathing loud? You were watching me?” Even cut in, but Isak just shushed him.

“So, I went to my room and I fell asleep… and then I may have… had a wet dream about you.” He finished off quickly, repressing his own grin. 

“ _ May have _ ?” Even probed. But Isak could hear the pleasure in his voice.

“OK, I did. So there. That’s why I was weird.” Even opened his mouth again to say something, but Isak carried on. “And now you know, and you promised to rest your voice so shush. OK?”

Even was smirking now. “This isn’t forgotten, Valtersen,” he whispered. 

“I know,” Isak murmured in feigned exasperation as he bent forward to kiss Even’s forehead. “I'll be back, just chill. OK?” 

“OK,” Even said softly, his eyelids closing and his lashes resting on his cheeks. Isak didn't want to move, he wanted to stand guard and just watch, but there were things he had to do. 

Sliding carefully from the bed, Isak quickly peeled his wet jacket and jumper off before making his way from the bedroom, stopping at the bathroom to grab the clothes he'd thrown in the sink. Striding into the kitchen, he switched on the light before jumping clean out of his skin when the light revealed someone was leaning against the kitchen worktop, holding a glass with what Isak would guess was vodka in it—now he'd had a moment to figure who it was.

“ _ Eskild, _ what the fuck?” he said, as low as he could but with enough power to berate. “You can't just fucking lurk.” 

Eskild shrugged, smiling sheepishly. “The door was open, you said you'd text me if he was here. I got worried.” 

“So you can't turn on a goddamn light?” he huffed. Isak didn't have the energy to be irritated on top of everything else, nor for him to consider how much it would have freaked both him and Even out if someone had just turned a light on.  

But Eskild didn't answer, his eyes were glued to the clothes in Isak’s hands. The blood stain was visible and it was too late to try and hide it, not that he had any need to. 

“What the fuck is that?” Eskild asked moving towards Isak. “What happened?” 

Isak worked his mouth. Usually he smoothed out issues before he began talking about them. But Eskild had a right to know; Even was his friend too. 

“I don't really know, he didn't say.” Isak licked his lips. “Someone beat him up, pretty bad.” 

The blank calm on Eskild’s face belied what Isak knew was going on inside: rage. “He didn't say where, or who?” The words were too steady. 

Isak was shaking his head, but Eskild had reached him and took the clothes from his hands—Isak didn't even put up a fight. Then he was rummaging through the pockets, like Isak had intended to, but he didn't stop when he pulled Even’s wallet free and placed it on the table top. His hand plunged back, fishing deep, before he brought out a small white piece of paper. 

“What's that?” Isak edged closer, but Eskild just held a finger to his lips. 

“A receipt,” he murmured. “The Plaza,” it was added softly, as if to himself. 

Isak was frowning. “What does that mean?” 

A sombre expression adorned his face when he looked up at Isak, there was a darkness there that Isak had never seen in Eskild before. “You don't wanna know,” he replied. 

“Can I—”

Eskild was already shaking his head. “You need to be here, with Even.” Gathering the clothes, he did the other thing that Isak had intended and shoved them deep into the bin. “I need to go see Sana.” 

“Sana? About what?” Isak called out after him as he made his way to the door. 

“A gut feeling,” Eskild replied. “I'll text, but focus on him. Let me know how he is, OK?” 

Isak was nodding, feeling somewhat more secure despite not really fucking knowing what was going on. Eskild seemed to have things in hand. Isak trusted him, he realised. And of course he would, why wouldn't he? But the notion still made him smile as he watched the door close. 

“Tea,” Isak said aloud to an empty room, before he grabbed his Mr Happy mug from the cupboard. Dropping a tea bag inside, he placed it under the one cup spout. It really did save energy, and they all should be a little more green. It was a great incentive, really. Why had he ever complained about something so damn trivial?

He dolloped a spoonful of honey in with the tea before stirring it. Grabbing a glass, he filled it with cool water. Now Even would have both hot and cold—whatever he needed. 

Isak smiled to himself, content with his caretaking skills, before stopping at the fridge. He silently considered the message that had been left there, hesitating over an urge that had gripped him. It didn’t take long before he gave in. Placing the cups down, he moved the magnets around until he nodded with satisfaction.

_ There. That was better.  _

Chewing on his lip, Isak tried to estimate how long it would take for Even to notice the change.

When he got back to the room, Even was peering over the covers at him, back to high alert with anxiety clear in his eyes. It ebbed away when he saw Isak. This wasn't going to be as simple as healing over with the presence of one shaky smile—Isak knew that.

“I heard someone,” he murmured before worrying his lip. 

“Eskild,” Isak replied, moving to the other side of the bed. It was a complete accident that Isak had laid Even in the side he'd fallen asleep that night. So, he made himself comfortable in the half that was Even’s. “He's gone now,” he added, placing the glass on the side table, where he noticed the journal was sat closed. It had been on the set of drawers, next to the vase, the last time Isak was in here. Maybe Even had been using it? 

“You might need to sit up, I'll help,” he said, holding the mug by it’s handle, he helped Even shift onto him while he stacked the multitude of cushions. Now he would be able to sit up comfortably. When he was done, Even only moved a few inches, seemingly content to be propped between the cushions and against Isak. 

His breath tickled at Isak’s neck. “I thought I’d dreamt you being here for a minute, when I closed my eyes. Then I heard voices—”

“I thought you were going to rest your voice?” Isak muttered, cutting off any somber discussion. They didn’t need this to be sad. Not that there was anything wrong with feeling sadness, but it could wait until his body was in better condition. Now was for comfort.

Isak tried to ignore the frown aimed at him as he switch the cup to his other hand and poked it under Even’s nose. “Here.”

Dutifully—and without any eye rolling—Even took the drink. The first sip was punctuated by a cough, Isak ran his hand up Even’s back until it had soothed him. Then he went back for more, draining half the mug before handing it back to Isak. 

Even settled back into the spot he’d found, half pillows-half Isak. Isak wasn’t complaining, they hadn’t been like this before, just close. But it felt so natural that they could have been doing it for years, Isak just had to ignore the fact Even was naked and pressed to him. It was so far from the right time to be thinking anything like that, Isak was considering himself a monster. He smothered those misplaced thoughts that lingered at that back of his mind. 

The struggle with his subconscious was cut short when he realised Even was staring thoughtfully at him. Isak brought the covers up high, pulling them tight around Even’s shoulders. He made sure his eyes didn’t flinch away everytime they scoured an area of skin that was not unblemished, despite him wanting to shy away like the blows were falling on himself. He could imagine every one of them vividly.

Then he was studying Even’s face and the marks left there, Isak couldn’t help but let his fingers comb through Even’s hair. The concern must have been easily read because Even started to frown at him before pointing to the side table. Isak saw that he was gesturing to the journal, so he grabbed it and passed it over with the hand not wrapped around Even’s back. 

He watched as Even opened it to the back page where a short pencil was held between paper and leather, then—on a blank sheet—he began to write. Isak realised he was complying to Isak’s request—that he rest his voice—but evidently he still wanted to talk. And Isak couldn’t complain, this way he could study Even’s hands as his fingers guided the pencil around the page. He was graceful even in this. 

_ Stop looking at me like I’m about to disappear in front of your eyes.  _

Isak snorted. “I can’t help it. It hurts to know you’re hurt. Do you need anything? Does it hurt badly?”

Even was shaking his head, but the pencil was moving again. 

_ I feel better. It’ll fade in a few days. _

“The pain or the bruising?”

_ Both. _

Isak was nodding, trying not to be dismayed about how certain Even seemed to be about healing after a beating, and what that implied about what he’d grown accustomed to in his life. Licking his lips, he hesitated over whether he could ask the next question or not.

“What happened?”

Even glanced at him for a moment, his eyebrows drawing together.

_ Do you really want to know? _

“I think— _ I do _ ,” Isak replied firmly. If they were together, he needed to be able to hear the things Even needed to talk about. Even hesitated before returning his focus to the page.

_ I said your name. _

Isak stared at the words bemused. Why would that incur this? It was when Even continued writing that it became clear.

_ During…  _

“Oh,” Isak said quickly. “ _ Ohhh _ , fuck—I’m sorry,” he stuttered, feeling instantly guilty. He wasn’t sure if that was the right reaction, but there it was. That and a small, confusing amount of contentment—which only made him feel even more guilty. Obviously, he in no way wanted any of this to happen, but Even had been thinking of him? He was a fucking monster for considering that right now. 

But Even was laughing softly.

_ It’s not your fault, you helped me get through it. _

Nodding, Isak tried to let that sink in. He’d been with Even, he’d helped him somehow. That was  _ something _ . “I’m glad I helped somehow, I just wish I was here and that none of it had happened. I should have come back, I just thought—I don’t know what I thought.” Even watched him patiently as he spoke, his head shaking softly again.

_ I’m sorry I was like that at the club, I didn’t think. And I proved your point, what you said… cheap. _

It was Isak’s turn to shake his head, vehemently though. “I didn’t mean you, I was talking to that guy, from that night. It wasn’t you, I’d never think that way— _ never _ . Not you. I just wish I’d told you.”

With each word, Even buried his head further into Isak’s chest, his free hand clutching desperately at Isak’s t-shirt. They would both be crying into each other soon. Isak kept stroking through Even’s hair, trying to soothe him—reassure him. How could he have ever thought Isak would see him that way? But then the night on the Opera house roof came back to him; Even had said anyone close to him had told him he was worthless. Well, they were all fucking wrong, and Isak would prove it to him. 

“It’s OK, baby. We’re here now, we’re together,” Isak said quietly, trying to keep a handle on his own toiling emotions. He kissed Even’s forehead: once, twice, three times, until Even’s hold on him eased, and Isak could feel him breathing again. 

His hand moved back to the page. 

_ I don’t want to hurt you. I’m scared I’ll hurt you.  _

Isak sighed, making patterns with his fingers over the duvet where it covered Even’s back. “Chances are we will hurt each other at some point, apparently that happens in relationships,” Isak said, without considering what he was saying fully, simply remembering what Eva had told him. “But as long as we know each other, and we want it, and work for it…” he shrugged. It was a pretty simple concept. Let’s see how hard it was in actuality. 

Even’s hand was moving before he’d finished. 

_ Relationship? _

“Yeah, I mean, that’s if you want—” Isak spluttered, embarrassed that he’d made that assumption. But he didn’t need to finish the question because Even was writing faster than he could speak. 

_ Of course I do. I was going to tell you, I promise. _

“I know,” Isak murmured, feeling relief at Even’s answer to his question. 

He was in a relationship?

But then he chewed his lip thoughtfully, this topic had to be broached, either now or later. “And I won’t try and tell you what you can and can’t do, but I will worry about you—you know, after tonight. I don’t want to see you like this— _ ever _ .”

Even was frowning at him like he was mad, before turning back to the page.

_ You would stay with me if I carried on??? _

“Well, yeah—” If Isak wanted to be with Even, he would have to accept every part of him. He wasn’t sure exactly how he would feel in practice, but this was the hypothesis. But, again, he didn’t have a chance to explain in full as Even was faster.

_ I’m not doing it anymore. I can’t. You’ve changed me. _

“Oh,” Isak said simply. He hadn’t really considered how this would play out, and hadn’t tried to think about Even changing to suit Isak’s needs or concerns. He’d changed Even? How? But he couldn’t contain how his chest wanted to swell at the fact Even would be his. Just his. Not that anyone belonged to anyone, but—well it was just how he felt. “Is that a good thing? Me changing you?” he asked. 

And Even hesitated before beginning to write. 

_ For me, yes. I’ve never felt so full than with you. But I’m scared I will rely on you to be my everything. That wouldn’t be fair—  _

He stopped writing this time as Isak interrupted him. “That’s just bullshit. It’s you that has kept yourself alive, that’s made everything you have. It was you that went back to school to study, I wasn’t in your life then. I don’t know everything about what you’ve been through, but I know enough to know you’re the strongest person I’ve ever met. If I can help you— _ support you _ —then that’s… fucking amazing. You help me be who I need to be, you help me be better, so it’s a two way street.” Isak finished off, like it was simple logic. It made sense to him. Besides, being needed by Even was something he wanted. Considering he needed no help to survive what he had already, it said a great deal about the depth of their connection if he found something in Isak that gave him strength—made him  _ full _ .

Isak felt full, too. 

Even closed the journal, leaning over Isak to put it on the side, and—as soon as his hands were free—they were wrapped around Isak, nose buried into his neck. 

“I don’t think I can explain how I feel,” Even muttered against his neck. But Isak could feel both the tension and relief in him. Isak could guess how he felt, because he knew how he felt himself, but maybe Even wasn’t ready to say it yet. And that was OK, too. 

“You don’t have to,” Isak replied, nosing into Even’s hair and breathing him in. He let his arms wrap around Even’s back, but over the top of the covers, trying not to think about all the bare flesh that was pressed to him right now. “But you do have to rest.” Isak added.

Sighing, Even edged back, to that point in between pillows and Isak. “OK,” he agreed. Isak handed him the mug, and without being asked to do so, Even finished the tea. 

He eased onto the pillows, Isak’s arm still beneath his neck. “Can you tell me about this dream?” he asked, smirking up at Isak. 

“You can’t say another word though. You have to close your eyes, too.” Even nodded, closing his eyes, but the smirk was still there. “There’s not much to it, it was just you and me, on purple grass—”

_ “Purple grass?” _

Isak rolled his eyes before shushing Even and continuing. “That was two words, Even,” he muttered in reprimand. Even only huffed a short laugh. “Then I told you to take your clothes off cos you spilled wine down yourself, and you did. Then we were.. kissing and…  _ stuff _ .” 

One of his eyes opened, his smirk was large enough that Isak could see his teeth.  _ “Stuff?” _

“That’s three words,” Isak mumbled. “Yes, I was on top of you, then you were on me. OK?” he admitted, sounding mildly harassed. 

Even hummed, it was definite contentment—perhaps a little smug. “So, flipping?”

“I swear to god, what will it take for you to be quiet and go to sleep? You need rest.” Isak said, with some exasperation. Plus, he didn’t really want to think about those dreams right now, it just wasn’t the right time or place for a hard-on that would be no use to anyone. 

Even rolled onto his side, curling himself around Isak. “Sing to me,” he said. His words were punctuated by a yawn. He was drowsy, Isak decided. That was good.

“Wow, I didn’t realise how demanding you were,” Isak snorted, but he was grinning. Even huffed a laugh that sounded like amusement that Isak—of all people—would call someone demanding. But before Even could retort, Isak decided to give in to the request, not simply to get Even to shut up long enough to go to sleep, but actually it was a sweet desire. 

He began to stroke through Even’s hair as he laid on his chest, humming a song that he wasn’t too sure he knew. It was just the first melody that came to mind. Even’s body relaxed—moment by moment—his breathing deepend with each inhale, as Isak kept up the soft tune. He couldn’t help but feel relaxed himself. 

Between light kisses to Even’s head he looked around the room, noting that not much had changed from the last time he was in here.

There were a handful of DVD’s sat on the drawers; it looked like he’d been rewatching favorite movies in his spare time—but he didn’t bother to strain his eyes to read the titles. The photo was still there, next to the vase, but there was a new addition to the sparse items arranged there: the glass they had shared the night they had spent together in here. Isak was smiling at it, he probably wouldn’t have wanted to wash it up either. 

They were already memory building, before they even knew that was what they were doing.

He sighed when he heard Even’s soft snores, deep in sleep. 

Isak looked up to the ceiling before quickly deciding he didn’t want to ceiling stare anymore. Glancing to his side, he saw the journal they’d been using to communicate with. Grabbing it, he sat it on his hip as it propped against his leg, which was bent at the knee. He flicked to the back page, re-reading Even’s side of the conversation. His handwriting was long and graceful, there had never been anything so intimate about learning how someone wrote before this. He felt like he could have guessed how it would have looked, because somehow he knew Even, despite how short the timespan that they had been in each other’s lives.

Stifling a yawn, Isak realized he felt tired, the adrenaline slowly ebbing from him—but not enough to sleep just yet. Idly, he flicked through the pages, frowning at the sketches he found there. There were double versioned sketches; the same scene but with changes—some big and some small. It didn’t take long for Isak to realise he was looking at memories—Even’s memories. His heart was burning as those papercuts stung all over again when he glanced over a few, no one should have to reimagine their life this way. 

This was much too personal for him to look at without Even’s permission, so he went to close it before catching a glimpse of one near the end; one that had him in it. His eyes scanned the page quickly, taking in the memory and the revisited version. 

There was him and Even on the balcony, feet in the air and puffs of smoke swirling into the starry sky. The second image was the same, but instead of Isak being the only one under the duvet, Even had joined him, and there were two plates placed by their heads. They’d shared that first meal together.

The next one was them lying on Even’s bed. They were facing each other and Isak was asleep, Even was watching him. In the second image it was almost identical except both of them were sleeping, their fingers linked together as they held hands. Light was streaming into the room, Isak had stayed that night. 

Then they were on the opera house roof, the images were identical except for one thing. In each version there was a speech bubble coming from Even, the first said  _ I made hot chocolate _ and the second  _ I made coffee _ . Isak smiled to himself as he remembered that discussion about universes. It had been a perfect evening, and if they changed any moment of it, it would have meant the next morning wouldn’t have been quite so special. Obviously Even agreed.

The last one showed them both on the balcony, rain coming down. In the first version they were kissing, bodies pressed together. Isak realised that Even was skilled at sketching because Isak could remember that exact moment from the simple drawing and every feeling that had coursed through him. The second version, their lips had parted and Isak’s eyes were closed, Even’s hands on his face—Isak could remember that moment too. But there was a speech bubble, in it was written  _ I have to tell you something _ .

Isak couldn’t help the grief he felt imagining Even sitting here alone, revisiting their moments to make them better—to fix things. He resented himself for staying away, but—like he’d told Even—they were here now. And he would have to accept that there was no redo, but they were on the same page. They had so much time to make things better…  

His musings were interrupted by a noise; it was a message. Placing the journal back on the side table, he pulled his phone from his pocket. He’d been added to a group message, apparently… 

**Eva:** Isak, are you OK? I woke up and Jonas said Eskild took you back to your apartment. But it’s late, and Eskild isn’t answering. Anyone know where they are??? I'm worried.

Isak began to type back but a message arrived before he could.

**Sana:** He’s with me.

**Eva:** Isak?

**Sana:** No, Eskild. But Isak is reading this. I can see your little face bubble bouncing down the chat, Isak. Say something you little shit.

**Sana:** You’ve been ignoring me… 

**Sana:** I’m coming over tomorrow. Whether you like it or not.

**Eva:** Should I come too? Where is the apartment again?

**Vilde:** WTF? It’s late? What’s going on?

Isak sighed, before sending his message. It looked like the hen house had been well and truly kicked.

**Isak:** I’m at home, everything is OK. No one needs to come over, it’s chill. Everything is chill.

**Eva:** Are you sure?

**Isak:** Yup

**Sana:** You know I wasn't asking for permission. Plus I need to drop some things off.

**Isak:** What things? We are fiiiine.

**Chris:** Hey! Is there a party somewhere?

**Isak:** NO

**Vilde:** BTW was my puke really pink last weekend? 

**Vilde:** Magnus said it was.

Sana added Even to the group.

**Isak:** SANA WHAT THE FUCK

**Isak:** @ Vilde it was a fucking rainbow on acid

**Chris:** Who’s Even?

**Vilde:** Housemate

**Chris:** Is he hot?

**Vilde:** Magnus thinks so.

**Vilde:** it's led to some interesting conversations 

**Eva:** ... oOo I think I know what’s going on ;-)

**Sana:** I’m not going to message you both separately. This is to let HIM know I’m coming tomorrow.

**Sana:** @ Even I'll be there at ten

**Isak:** He’s sleeping. FFS.

**Sana:** He’ll see it when he wakes up then 0:-P  

**Isak:** When did you even friend him???

**Sana:** I’ve been to your place a few times now Isak. Enough to know it was smart to add him in case me and Yousef don’t work out and you didn’t wake the fuck up to “things”.

**Chris:** Wait… how do you know he’s asleep???

**Eva:** One of us, one of us, one of us :-D

**Chris:** ISAK ARE YOU IN BED WITH A MAN???????

**Vilde:** Pictures or it didn't happen 

**Isak:** GOODNIGHT 

Isak locked his phone and dropped it to the floor. It was only a matter of time anyway, he supposed. He’d try to ignore the thousands of messages, gossiping between them, that he would no doubt wake up to. 

Hesitating, he chewed on his lip before committing to his impulse. It wasn’t all that comfortable sleeping with your clothes on— he knew from experience. Unbuttoning his jeans, he kicked them off, before turning to switch off the lamp and then returning to Even, somehow fitting into him like this was a well practised routine.

It was easy enough for him to feel drowsy, that was if he ignored the way it felt as their bare legs tangled together. Their skin touching made him feel alive, different from any other sensation he could recall. But he tried to numb that exhilaration, and quiet the thoughts that still played in the back of his mind at just how much of Even’s skin was pressed to him. Sleep was the only option right now.

And so, pushing his nose into Even’s hair, he let himself be lulled by the warmth and this scent that filled his nose, and the purple covers that surrounded them both. 

He began to hum the tune softly to himself again, his toes wiggling contentedly as he was submerged in comfort. Without knowing what he was doing Isak began to murmur the words: 

_ “And the songbirds keep singing like they know the score…” _

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [This is the song Isak is singing](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=bTNLYeaL7No)
> 
> (It's the Eva Cassidy version of Songbird-I like this version better than the Fleetwood Mac version, I know, I'm a monster)
> 
> Also, funny story, I was listening to Sondre Justad's cover of [Feel Fine](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=jtbMDd32SDE) while writing this chapter, not knowing how apt it was to how Even is feeling before Isak gets there until I just checked out the lyrics... It's a beautiful song <3


	9. Chapter Eight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Are you just gonna lay there and perv on me?” 
> 
> Even’s eyes snapped up to Isak’s face, who looked amused at the attention. “You told me to take my time, so… and your ass is right there.” He pointed to where it was, in case Isak needed help locating it. “And it’s fucking perfect,” he added.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm really sorry about the delay in this. Burn out + depression + BigBang + HighOnSkam = a really slow working Becs.
> 
> Also, plot? What plot? That kinda sums up how I feel about this chapter. It's completely self indulgent and I'm not even sorry. 
> 
> Enjoy! Becs <3

##  Chapter Eight

###  Even

It was a strange sensation, he decided. Even had never slept with anyone before, the notion had always made him feel that it would probably be uncomfortable.

Whether it was just unique to the man at his side or not, he wouldn't know, but the reality of sleeping next to Isak was so completely different. They shifted in the night, like boats docked next to each other when the wind stirred them, then they simply fall into the next comfortable position with ease, settling into place like their bones belonged together.

There had been flickers of panic, when Even was half roused, that he was either still in danger, or that Isak had never come home. But those worries were snuffed as soon as the second steady thrum of a heartbeat registered. Relief didn't come close to the warmth that rushed through his veins when he heard Isak's quiet and deep breaths. 

Isak talked in his sleep—or murmured. It was all inconsequential nonsense that was somehow more comforting than coherence. There was something about ice cream tea at one point, and then an adamant mutter about someone not being able to use their super powers because it was unfair. Even considered keeping a diary of the things Isak said in his sleep, because there must be some reason he was talking about a henhouse and rainbows.

He'd been watching Isak since he woke, and Even wasn't sure how long ago that was now, but he  _ was  _ certain that this might be one of his favourite things to do. The position they'd ended up in had Isak resting his head on Even’s extended arm; he being on his side now and Isak flat on his back, their legs criss crossed haphazardly. He still had enough room to move, having already leant across Isak to take two more ibuprofen and draining half the glass of water. But now Even was fascinated by the small gap between Isak's lips, and the way the lower would move just slightly with every inhale and exhale. And there was a tuft of hair on his head that stuck up no matter how many times Even’s fingers tried to tame it.

Then one breath was drawn that was deeper than its predecessors, and Isak turned on his side so they were now facing. Even chewed his lip; either way he would have been happy—to face Isak or to have Isak turn the other way. He'd done that once in the night, shuffling backwards until he was pressed to Even’s chest, and Even had taken advantage of that position by wrapping an arm around Isak's middle, and pushing his nose into Isak's neck.

But watching him wake, in the pale and cool light of this winter morning, was beautiful. His eyelashes fluttered before a frown creased his forehead, then his eyes were wide as he found Even. That was when a smile of contentment spread on his face, it seemed the room warmed with his expression. Finding Even watching him, a spark of bashfulness was lit, and Even watched, drinking in every detail, as Isak's cheeks flushed and he pushed his eyes closed again, half burying his face in the pillow while a crooked smirk shaped his lips perfectly.

It was safe to say that Even could get used to waking up like this. His muscles were tender and sore in every limb, Even was reminded with every small movement he made, but he couldn't focus on his discomfort when Isak was right here. He seemed to take the edge off the pain. And the thoughts and worries that tried to fight their way to the surface burst like the petty bubbles they were. Isak was here, he  _ wanted  _ to be here, and Even trusted him.

_ Did he even realised what he was humming last night? _

“Morning,” Even murmured, taking the opportunity to trace Isak’s eyebrow with his fingertip.

His eyes cracked open again. “How long have you been up?” he murmured sleepily.

Even shrugged. “Long enough to know you talk in your sleep,” he grinned.

Isak’s jaw dropped open. “I don't,” he started, indignantly.

But Even cut him off, rolling him and pinning him beneath his body. Isak seemed to forget whatever battle he'd been about to wage, because he just grinned up at Even.

“Well,  _ you _ snore,” he shot back, that little irresistible chin tilt he did punctuating the claim. Maybe he hadn't forgotten entirely.

“Liar,” Even snorted.

“ _ How dare you _ .” But the words were half laughed.

“Don't spoil a perfect morning with your mouth, baby.” And before Isak could come back with anything, Even lowered his head, lips finding Isak’s half open in protest—they gave up on that task as soon as contact was made.

The sigh that left Isak danced over Even’s skin, and he felt the body beneath him melt. Hands were on his cheeks as Isak pulled back by a fraction. “What about your lip?” he asked quickly, frowning in worry.

Even shook his head. “It doesn't hurt.”

A disbelieving look was aimed back at him. “Liar,” he snorted, repaying the sentiment. He was doing that thing where his gaze danced somewhere between Even’s eyes and mouth.

“Well, it hurts more not to kiss you,” Even replied, rubbing the tip of his nose against Isak's.

He rolled his eyes, but Isak’s smile was wide. “Oh, god. Is this what you do? Cheesy lines? Christ… how do I get out of this?”

Even was laughing. “There's no way out of this. Remember? If I'm stuck with your face, you're stuck with my mouth.”

“That sounds just terrible,” he murmured, not sounding convincing in the least. Even imagined that thoughts of other things that mouths could do had slipped into his mind, just like they had in Even’s.

“I know you love it really, but I won't tell anyone,” Even whispered against his mouth, and there was an indignant snort before it was lost because they were kissing again.

Isak's hands were still on Even’s shoulders for a moment before they edged over his skin, moving slowly and carefully until his fingertips met at the centre of Even’s back, timidly following his spine.

Chin pulling away, Isak drew a heavy breath. “Even, I'm only human,” he stuttered.

Even frowned down at him. “What do you mean?”

A small huff was expelled in exasperation before Isak answered. “I'm… you're on me—naked. It's… not  _ uncomfortable,  _ but—”

“You're turned on?” Even tried to answer for him, and the red that flooded Isak’s face was answer enough. He nodded, looking guilty at the admission. So, he felt like they shouldn't be like this? Was Isak holding back because he was hurt? “I am, too,” Even added softly in reassurance.

A flat stare was levelled back at him. “I  _ know _ , you're kinda— _ on _ me,” Isak said, half harassed and the rest wanting. “And that doesn't help the situation.” The words were laughed nervously.

“ _ The situation _ ?” he repeated through a grin. Isak nodded in response, mouth opening and closing before he gave up on trying to find an explanation. “You think that we shouldn't be like this yet?” Even asked. He didn't want to make Isak feel uncomfortable—not again. He hadn't been in the state to care last night about clothes, and after a full night laying so close it hadn't felt like a big deal to him. He shifted to ease back from Isak, but the hands on his back tightened in resistance.

“It's not about that—it's… I don't want to hurt you, or—or make it feel like it’s like… it’s something you don't want.” The words came staggering out of Isak in a jumble. Either he was scared of inflicting physical pain on Even , which seemed unlikely with the gentle pace that had settled on them easily, or—which seemed more likely—Isak was scared anything he did would feel like the hands that had touched Even before, or if Even touched him it would feel like some routine.

Even was shaking his head. “This isn't like anything else, I don't know what's coming after the next kiss and I love that. I just want to be close to you. And when I touch you,” he said, letting his fingers trail down the cotton of Isak's t-shirt where it covered his waist. “And when you touch me, it's not like anything else before. It's new.” There really wasn't an easy way to explain that this was the first time Even had been here doing these things, not an alter ego.

A sighed exhale left Isak, he looked more relieved. “So, I'm not a monster for thinking it?” he asked, licking his lips before clarifying. “For thinking about how  _ good  _ it feels—your body on mine.”

Even snorted. “I want you to think that.”

“But the timing—”

“What’s a better time to be like this? When we needed each other most? It's natural, I guess, to feel it badly,” Even replied, hesitating before  _ he  _ clarified. “Desire and need.” It was true for him in any case, being near Isak cleared away memories and the darkness, Even craved his touch—a touch that he trusted. The same touch that had wiped away his tears, and pulled him from an obsolete and cold bath. The same hands that were so precise and ordered in everything they did. The same careful fingers that seemed to unknit all the knots that had been made within Even’s body without realising what they were doing. 

Isak's breathing was heavier now, and he was back to studying the distance between Even’s eyes and lips. “What should we do then?” The question was quietly asked.

“We don't have to do anything.” He watched as Isak frowned at his words before nodding once. “ _ Or _ … we start of by taking your clothes off, too.” Even shrugged and snorted a laugh, but Isak’s expression froze. He'd been half joking but now Isak was nodding emphatically. “You want to?”

“ _ Yes _ .” The answer was instant before Isak’s hand was on the back of his neck, bringing their mouths together again. But for all his enthusiasm, Isak’s lips still moved carefully against Even’s, mindful not to reopen the cut.

Then his mouth was open and undefended as Even’s palm slid under the t-shirt still separating their skin, pushing it slowly up Isak’s body. He was free to make sure the perfect lips below his own had been kissed and caressed equally, before nipping them lightly, becoming high from the needy breaths that were pulling low groans from Isak’s mouth.

Even eased the material over his head, throwing it to the floor. Then he was back to those lips, and smooth skin, and the addictive sighs and noises Isak made. But the tender pace didn't escalate, it was a slow and deliberate reveal. They had time—so much time. There was no rush.

“You know, if you want to stop at any point, you can just say.” Even murmured between kisses.

“Ditto,” Isak replied, but he was already pushing his thumb into the waistband of his boxers. Even moved back to give him some room—undercover—to rid himself of the final garment. It wasn't until Isak tossed them onto the floor that Even took note of anything other than the body next to his own.

“Blue plaid,” he mused through a grin.

“Yeah, well, I guess I did get lucky,” Isak replied, shifting onto his side, mirroring Even, and moving closer to his mouth.

“Me too.” His hand was on Isak’s cheek, closing the distance between their lips. And it was true, Even couldn't imagine having any better luck than to find Isak—or, more accurately, have Isak come stumbling and stammering into his life, completely upending it. All for the better.

The kiss was soft and unrushed as they lay facing each other, a slither of unclaimed territory dividing their skin. Even couldn't help but obsess over that minute chasm, trying to work out how far they were from touching, and how long it would take to dance across those few delicate millimetres. But the thrill was sitting on the edge of his seat, waiting for the next move to be made.

That move came as Isak’s foot nudged against his, his toe sliding alone the arch of Even’s foot. That quiet invitation was enough for Even to pull that curious foot forward, letting Isak’s calf slide between his.

And fingers were flowing through his hair before sliding down his shoulders and back, coming to rest on Even’s waist. Isak’s thumb was left lazily stroking over his hip bone and the motion had Even’s stomach doing somersaults.

His own hand drifted from cheek, to arm, to waist, not really knowing where it wanted to be most, except everywhere at once. And Isak's sighs against his mouth made him braver—brave but aware. His hand was back at Isak's waist, and slowly it eased over his hip, fingertips teasing patterns over Isak’s ass when he passed over it—the curve of which, Even decided, was fucking perfect. Then he was moving down his thigh, enjoying the small whine that was fed into his mouth at the tease.

Even’s thumb traced around his kneecap, fingers stroking the soft skin behind the joint. Isak must be ticklish there because he was laughing into the kiss, his stomach tensing, but he didn't pull away and his hand inched lower before his palm was resting on Even’s ass. He slid his foot from between Even’s calves to hook it around his legs and bring them closer, and, at the same time, his hand squeezed the muscle he'd been palming. It was Even’s turn to snort a laugh.

Isak moved his chest forward, seeming to want to slide beneath Even. With that notion in mind, Even worked his way back up Isak's leg, allowing himself to trace the muscle and noting every single detail of Isak's body that he found: his hair was soft and muscles firm as they passed beneath Even’s hand.

He reached his target—back at Isak’s hip—and, with no warning, tugged Isak flush to his body. Even would have wallowed in the pleasure he felt bloom simply because of the noises Isak made: a surprised grunt, overtaken by a short laugh before it was entirely lost to a groan drenched in satisfaction, due only to the fact their bodies were touching. He  _ would _ have smirked, but Even was making similar noises himself, and they took precedence. 

Those noises felt obscene, but there was no other way to express just how fulfilling it was to feel Isak’s naked body against his— _ finally _ . This was a long time coming, an inevitable destination that some part of Even knew he would arrive at, at some point. Maybe this silver lining that he’d been consciously ignorant of, up until a month or so ago, was what kept him going. No other explanation seemed to explain away how right this all felt. 

The grip on Even firmed, pulling him harder against Isak, before they began to rock against each other. It was a slow, fitful motion, but utterly insatiable. Even chased every ebb with his own flow, and Isak returned the favour, both gasping into the other’s mouth. 

Isak was hard against him, and Even had probably been hard since he woke up. He wasn’t sure where the line was between feeling gratification at just being with Isak and being turned on by him, and right now Even didn’t fucking care. Maybe there was no line, maybe he would constantly be on the verge of a boner just because Isak was close to him. It was a new development, and one completely welcomed. 

As they moved against each other, Isak’s cock rubbed against his, feeling each other out in such an innocent way. Isak was so warm, his body building up heat with every moment they moved like this, and Even realised his hands were sliding all over his body— _ any _ part he could touch. He felt completely disoriented and, at the same time, it didn’t matter because this was exactly where he should be. 

One minute Even’s fingers were carding soft curls and the next his hands were full of ass. He was pretty sure that, if he could reach, he would have counted every single one of Isak’s toes by now. And Isak had a vice grip on him, around his waist or on his hip, making sure this sensation didn’t stop, this motion of skin sliding over skin, their lips on each others, chins wet with misplaced kisses and stomaches dampening with sweat and precum. 

_ That  _ was a desperate thought on its own, because now all Even could think about was the way Isak would taste—not just his mouth: his body, his sweat, his cum…  There were so many things he wanted to do to Isak, so many ideas that whirled through his head, but this was all Isak’s pace. Even would go with him, every small step at a time, let him lead this. 

As if he could read Even’s mind, Isak’s head fell back to the pillow, releasing a sound somewhere between a pained whimper and an indulgent moan. “Fuck, I think I’m gonna die,” he huffed, looking up at Even. His face was flushed and his hair was an absolute mess. Even was damn sure he’d never seen anything as hot in his life. 

But he couldn’t help but laugh at Isak’s over dramatic statement. “You’re not gonna die, I wouldn’t let you.”

“It’s  _ a lot _ —I’m gonna explode.”

Even frowned and grinned at the same time, which took a lot of facial muscles to accomplish. “I think that’s the general idea,” he murmured softly. He paused, considering Isak’s words before going on. He had issues with control, Even knew this. “We can stop, and just be here.”

Isak was already shaking his head. “I want this—you— _ us _ . I want us to be like this.”

Even nodded to his words. “There’s no pressure for anything,” he said, pushing his lips softly to Isak’s forehead. 

“I know.” His voice was low and gravelly. Even could feel exasperation in his words, exasperation at himself—which was absurd.

A thought came to him, making Even tilted his head as he watched Isak try to find his footing. “Baby, close your eyes,” he said. Isak licked his lips, his brow creasing as he looked at Even trying to figure out where this was going. “Trust me,” he added, his fingers dancing down Isak’s ribs. Isak nodded, his eyes closing. “OK, relax on to your back.” And he did, easily taking the instruction. 

“OK,” Isak said, “What now?”

Even snickered, he would do what he was asked but he’d question along the way. That seemed all very much like Isak. “Breathe.”

He filled his lungs—once, twice, three times—before he was calmer. “OK, now what?”

“Relaxed?”

“Yes.”

“Remember the other day when you said I could watch?” Isak opened his eyes, looking for Even. “Keep your eyes closed,” Even chided softly.

But the grin that spread across his face said he knew what Even meant, and he liked the idea. Isak nodded. “Uh-huh.”

“Take your dick and show me how you touch yourself.”

A short snort of laughter ripped from Isak in surprise, but he kept his eyes closed. His lower lip was drawn between his teeth, and he nodded again. “OK,” he said, the air rushing out of him indicated that he was anticipating the experience already—so was Even. 

His eyes ran over Isak, watching his stomach heave with his breath. His fingers skated down over his own body, until his palm ran over his cock. He swallowed before a short gasp left him when he gripped himself, slowly moving his hand up his shaft. Taking his time, he teased the head and glans with his palm and the pad of his thumb, before stroking back down. He wasn’t at all uncomfortable at showing Even this private part of him. 

Even didn’t know where to look because he wanted to watch exactly what Isak was doing  _ and  _ his reactions at the same time. Now he suddenly understood why people would want to film themselves. Would Isak be interested in that?

The question disintegrated as his gaze settled on Isak’s face, watching as his lips parted further, then trembled with need. There was a small crease between his eyebrows as they pulled together, focussing on the sensation he was feeding himself. His cheeks were a deeper shade of red now; hot, and flushed, and turned on.

Reaching out, Even let his hands wander over Isak as he lost himself in his own pleasure. And by the way Isak gasped, turning his head towards Even, but keeping his eyes shut, he welcomed the contact. He let his hands move slowly over Isak’s chest, fingers making slow circles around his nipples. They hardened with the anticipation alone, and Even felt the need to pay them back for their eagerness.

Bending forward, he began to kiss where his fingers had traced until his lips found the first stiff peak. Isak tensed as a louder moan shuddered from his chest—so he had sensitive nipples? That was good to know. Even continued to tease Isak where his fingers had left off, allowing his hand to trace further down his body, tremors running through them both. His palm ran firm lines down Isak’s thighs, massaging the muscle, and travelling closer to his groin with every sweep, until his thumb played at the joint between his upper leg and hip.

Resting his head on Isak’s chest, Even could hear the heart beneath him thudding against his ear while watching Isak’s hand move over his cock, faster now, and as he drew his hand down to the base, pulling back his foreskin, Even saw a drop of cum leak onto his stomach. He hadn’t even notice the way he was rocking himself, in subconscious need of friction and release, but he really didn’t care if he got off or not. Watching Isak undo himself like this was more than enough. Even would probably be having his own wet dreams after this. 

Pushing himself up on his elbow, he was back to watching Isak’s face, sweat was beginning to bead on his brow, and Even’s hand continued to rub firm patterns into Isak’s muscles. “You look so fucking hot.” He found the words were out before he’d even thought them. But Even didn’t need to think them, it was the simple truth. 

Isak’s eyes fluttered open to look at him, his lips fighting for words. “I need you,” he urged, breathless and completely wanting. The fingers of his free hand were in Even’s hair, urging him closer, and Even went. 

This time, the kiss wasn’t so slow. It was deep and eager, Even was happy to swallow Isak’s moans and the pathetic excuses for words that tried to form. He pulled at his lips with his teeth, before kissing them—equal measure of tender and wild. 

Then there was a frustrated sigh that came from Isak, Even felt motion cease as he stopped jerking himself off. He pulled back from Isak enough to frown down at him, trying to sense what he was feeling, or if he needed to stop. Isak opened his eyes, dark and heavy lidded, then Even felt the tip of a finger stroking just above his belly button. Before he could ask, Isak managed to pull a sentence together.

“I want to touch you,” he stuttered, licking his lips. “Can I?” 

The gesture was both innocent and fucking electrifying. Even wasn’t sure how his mind hadn’t blown altogether, but all he could do was nod. Of course Isak could touch him, he could do whatever he wanted. 

Their foreheads pressed together, just breathing against the other’s lips. But the sound Even let out when Isak’s hand found him would have been embarrassing if he’d been in a position to give a fuck. But he wasn’t, he was in bed with this man— the man of his dreams—who was touching him with so much care, he wasn’t sure if he wanted to cum or cry. Or fucking both. 

Isak touched him the same way he’d worked on himself, slow and tortuous strokes, teasing the head with his palm while his thumb ran down the shaft. It felt like he was trying to learn Even, figure out how to move his hand to make quick breaths and noises pour out of him. But every single movement of Isak against him made Even moan in bliss. 

He wanted to know Even, in every intimate way and Even could feel the truth in that assumption by the way Isak kissed him, touched him, looked at him. No one had ever tried to know him. 

Even decided he couldn't be the only one here—feeling this rapture. His mouth was near Isak’s ear and he pulled himself together enough to ask him a short question, as incoherently as Isak had sounded before, if not worse. “Baby—I want to—Can I?” His palm was rested on Isak’s inner thigh, thumb stroking to indicate what he couldn’t with words. But Isak was nodding before he’d finished the abridged question. 

“ _ Please _ ,” he panted. 

It was all Even needed. His hand moved up to take Isak’s cock, mirroring those motions that he’d seen and were now being acted out on himself. Isak thrust into his palm eagerly chasing the sensation of Even’s touch. They both needed it, that was clear, as much contact and sensation of the other’s body as they could get.

As much as Even longed to draw this out, delay the gratification that was inevitable, they quickly became a tumble of writhing, heaving limbs. Isak was still gripping the hair at Even’s nape, kisses passed between them when they could focus on anything but touching each other. Even’s leg was between Isak’s as they rocked together; knuckles brushed over knuckles, passing so closely, as they caressed the other. It was all one fluid act, there was no Isak or Even, they were something else—just one organism. He was sure their hearts were beating in tandem. 

It was a quick twist of Isak’s wrist that forced words from Even. “Fuck, I’m gonna come,” he almost begged against Isak’s mouth. It was a revelation, someone bringing him to that point without Even having much to do with it. It  _ should  _ be embarrassing how quickly Isak had broken him down but, again, Even didn't give one single fuck.

Isak opened his mouth to reply, but all that was expelled was a curdled sob, before his body stuttered. His grip firmed on Even’s cock, despite the fact he was cuming all over his own stomach, and Even kept up those motions, despite him breaking straight after because Isak’s cum spilling down his knuckles had been the last straw. His face was buried in Isak’s neck as he jerked one last time, a grunt belting from his chest that was drawn out; he didn’t stop groaning until every drop of cum that he had to give was pooling on Isak’s stomach with his own.

There was a long moment of still between them, just as their bodies pressed together, careless of the mess between them, and they breathed in the other. Even was still at Isak's neck, feeling the busy pulse that buzzed next to his mouth. 

Isak's fingers moved first, combing through Even’s hair softly, massaging where he'd been gripping. He found his lips pushing down against Isak's throat, light kisses that worked up to his jaw. He was dizzy and all the energy was drained from him, but he felt like he was floating; he didn't need to do anything but be. 

Summoning strength from god-knows-where, he lifted his head to look at Isak. The sun was stronger now, spilling an afterglow into the room that seemed completely in keeping with their current predicament. Isak's eyes were open, he was watching Even right back with a blissful gaze, combined with a mischievous and crooked smile. He didn't need to ask, but he was going to anyway. 

“You OK?” His voice was deeper than usual. 

Isak's eyebrows quirked in disbelief before he rolled his eyes playfully. “Of course I fucking am,” he snorted. But he released a breath before reflecting the caring sentiment right back. “Are you OK?” 

Even just nodded, propping himself up on his elbow and pushing a stray strand of hair back from Isak’s damp forehead. He grinned as he saw the stubborn tuft, still sticking up. “I don't think I've ever been better.” 

Shaking his head, Isak looked to be about to retaliate to Even’s words, maybe call them out like he had before for being cheesy. But the only thing that came from his lips, his cheeks still ruddy, was one word. “Good.” It was followed by a grin that made Even believe, in this moment, Isak had never been more proud of himself. Proud or smug…  _ probably  _ both. 

All of Isak’s reactions, all his mannerisms, all the possible words he could string together, Even felt like he could anticipate them—and he anticipated them eagerly. He knew what this was, he knew how he felt last night and he couldn't stop those three alien words from playing in his mind, and dancing on his tongue. But he held back because surely it was too soon; Isak would probably scoff at him at best. Even already had painful memories of uttering that sentiment only to be ignored or shunned. He knew this wasn't that, it was far from that, but it didn't help his anxiety. His heart was exploding with everything he felt, like an Isak Carnival was being thrown inside him—colours, streamers, and loud music—and yet he tried to keep the surface calm and unruffled. 

He'd wait for Isak to say it first. 

Reaching over Isak, Even opened the small door on the bed side table, grabbing a flannel to help with the clean up.

“A flannel? You just have flannels in there?  _ For this _ ?”

Even snorted as he shrugged. “It’s environmentally friendly.”

Isak was just shaking his head. “ _ Environmentally friendly, _ ” he muttered. “ _ Or _ , just too damn good for tissue.” 

“Well, I’m not good enough for gherkins, remember? So I have to be too good for something, otherwise I’ll get a complex,” he replied, arching an eyebrow at Isak while he wiped the soft material down over his stomach. He tried not to smirk when Isak bit his lower lip at the action; at least it wasn’t just Even that was always on the verge of being turned on, despite having done what they just did. “And anyway, it does a better job than tissue.”

Isak hummed in what could have been agreement, still focussing on Even’s hands as they cleaned him, before he wiped off his own hand. Then the flannel was tossed at the wash basket that sat by the door, and Even sighed as he relaxed back next to Isak. 

“How do you feel?” Isak said, shifting so he was resting over Even’s chest and snuggled into the crook of his arm. He was studying Even with concerned eyes, and Even couldn’t help but smile. He had someone who was genuinely concerned about him, not just that, Isak would care for him too. Just like Even would take care of him.

“Sore,” Even admitted. He would be aching for a few days yet, but the pain killers were helping. “But my head is better.” 

“Can I get you anything?” Isak asked eagerly.

“Just you is enough.”

Isak grunted impatiently. “No, I mean, you promised you’d eat in the morning. What do you want to eat?”

“You,” Even snickered.

“For fucks sake.” Isak sighed with exasperation, but his smile was still there. That was enough for Even. He would pass it off, but there was something in Even’s praise, and what Isak would consider cheesy lines, that seemed to burn inside of him; Isak liked it. “Do I need to set up an IV drip?”

Even wrapped his arm around him, bringing him close and kissing his forehead, before extending the same courtesy to the tip of Isak’s nose. “If that means I can just stay in here with you, why not?”

“You’re impossible,” Isak mumbled, but the ire was lost with the proximity of Even’s mouth. “I’m gonna make you something anyway,” he mused, pushing the tip of his nose against Even’s. “And I’ll force feed you.” 

“You’re gonna force things into my mouth, Isak? Wow, I didn’t know that was your thing.” Even was laughing fully now, as Isak pulled an unimpressed expression and cocked his head to one side. 

“Christ, I’m gonna have to monitor how much time you spend with Eskild. I think he’s a bad influence.” Isak shifted so he was propped up over Even, looking down on him with a reprimanding look on his face. 

“God, you don’t know how much it turns me on when you get bossy.” Isak lost the fight with the smile that carved deep beautiful lines into his cheeks. “I’m serious, I’m semi already,” Even was still laughing as heat was renewed in his cheeks. 

“I give up,” he muttered, but he looked preoccupied with whatever thoughts Even’s confession had conjured. He shook his head, and Even was pretty sure that internally Isak was scolding himself for being distracted. He was the most adorable fucking thing to watch work. “No— _ no, _ I don’t give up. I’m making breakfast,” he stated with an air of finality to his words. 

“I’m sure you will, baby,” Even continued to tease. Isak rolled his eyes, knowing Even wouldn’t stop there. “I have  _ all  _ the faith that you will…  _ cook…  _ at some point today…” 

Isak shifted away from him, preempting the offensive. “I’m getting up—” But Even had already wound his arms around Isak, tugging him back down, and rolling him onto his back. 

“You are, just not right now,” Even said, grinning down at Isak. “You put up such a hard fight,” he snorted, sarcasm ladled on his words liberally.

Sighing, Isak let himself soften, his fingers reaching towards Even’s face to push hair behind his ear. His eyes were tender as they absorbed Even, and Even didn’t think he would ever tire of the way Isak looked at him—or the way that gaze made his heart beat faster. But his expression was in complete contrast to his words.

“The dick wants what the dick wants.”

Even wasn’t surprised at the way his stomach ached now from laughing. “Just the dick?”

“Just the dick,” Isak repeated, with a challenging look in his eye and tilting his chin up in the way that he did. 

Even was shaking his head and biting his lip. If he spoke now he knew what he would say and he would break that commitment he’d just made to himself. Isak needed to say it first. 

To gag himself, Even lowered himself slowly, feeling smug in the apprehensive and low gasp that Isak made as he watched Even’s mouth approach his. And perhaps he deserved a tease for being such a smart ass, so Even hesitated over his lips, snickering as Isak huffed impatiently. Then relentless fingers were in Even’s hair, pulling him down the remaining few millimeters, until their mouths merged. 

Isak's tongue pushed into his mouth, like he hadn't just been the one adamant he was getting up. Even wasn't about to hold it against him, especially not when Isak was wrapping his legs around him, pulling their bodies tight together. 

“I'm hard already,” Isak stated, when their lips parted. 

“I know, I'm on top of you,” Even murmured, amused at Isak's surprise that they seemed to be steamrolling straight into another round… of whatever Isak would choose this to be. “I did say I'd make it up to your balls.” 

“I remember,” Isak said, beckoning Even back to his mouth. “But only if I get to repay the favour,” he added, tugging Even’s mouth back down on his. And Even could only hum in agreement as Isak took over his mouth, fingers and arms and legs all clinging to Even like he didn't intend to ever let him go. And Even didn't intend to leave. 

The intentions held up for all of thirty humid seconds before the noise of the buzzer and Isak’s phone began to sound simultaneously. 

“Which friend is that, I wonder?” Even mused against Isak's lips as they let out a fractious sigh. 

Hand dropping to the floor, Isak fished around blindly for a few moments before recalling his limb, phone attached. He looked at the screen before scowling. “ _ Fuuuuck,”  _ Isak groaned. “It's ten.” 

“What does that mean?” 

Isak took a deep breath before seeming to remember something. “It means, whatever you do, don't check your Facebook messages.” He shot Even a pleading look before he answered the call. 

“Sana,” Isak exclaimed, pushing the phone to his ear. “Punctual as always.” 

“ _ Good Morning, Isak.”  _

The phone was close enough for Even to hear her voice. 

“Is she downstairs?” Even mouthed soundlessly. 

“ _ What _ ?” Isak mouthed, not so quietly back. 

He tried to whisper louder. “Is she—” 

_ “Good Morning, Even.”  _

Isak was pinching the bridge of his nose and shaking his head, but Even was grinning. They would be found out sooner or later, if Isak’s friends didn't already know, and he was sure at least Sana knew. 

“Morning, Sana,” Even offered, shrugging at Isak who was considering him with a thoughtful expression. Had he thought Even wanted to be secretive about them? 

_ “I hope I'm not… interrupting.”  _

But Even could quite clearly hear the curiosity and amusement in her voice, despite the distance from the earpiece. 

“Actually,  _ yes _ , you are,” Isak muttered.

_ “That's a shame.”  _

Even snorted a laugh at just how unrepentant she sounded, but before Isak could retort she carried on briskly. 

_ “Someone is coming out now, just let me in upstairs.”  _

Isak was left open mouthed as he listened to Sana hang up. Sighing, he dropped the phone back to the floor. “I guess it was my turn to forget about visitors,” Isak said, wearing an apologetic smile. 

“We should give them a spare set of keys, then they don't have to disturb us.” 

“Absolutely fucking not,” Isak retorted. “You think they would leave us alone? Magnus would probably ask to fucking watch.” 

“No—,” he began before considering Isak’s words and remembering the conversation he’d had with Eskild and Magnus last week. “Well, maybe be would for tips.” 

“ _ Tips _ ?” 

Humming, Even nodded. “Apparently Vilde wants to top.” He arched an eyebrow but Isak just frowned back, perplexed by the statement. “With a strap-on,” he elaborated. 

“Oh Christ, I didn't need to know that,” Isak shook his head, like he was trying to dispel the thoughts procured. “You know apparently he thinks you're hot?” 

“He does? That's so cute,” Even snickered as Isak returned to frowning up at him again. 

“ _ Cute _ ?”

“Flattering,” Even corrected.

“Anyway, my point is there's no way in hell my best friend is watching us,” he said, closing the case and his jaw on the matter with a click of his teeth. 

“So, it's just a no to best friends?” Even teased. “I didn't know you were so freaky, Valtersen.  _ An exhibitionist? _ ” 

Isak tried to look put out, but the smile was winning. “Well, I guess, if I'm the only one touching you, then I'm game.” 

“Same applies,” Even added, before edging closer to Isak's mouth. He stopped when the theoretical discussion played out in his imagination. “No, wait— _ no _ ,” he began, suddenly insistent. “Apparently I don’t like the idea of people watching you.”

Isak was smirking. “ _ Apparently _ ?”

“Fuck, I’ve never felt that before. Is this jealousy?” Even asked, bemused by the new things he was feeling. The expression on Isak’s face was pure self congratulation. 

“Are you into traditional monogamy, Even? I didn’t know you were so vanilla.” He was teasing Even right back, and Even didn’t mind at all.

“All of a sudden, yes I am. Is this gonna work with you being so kinky?” He was laughing softly while Isak narrowed his eyes at him.

“Turns out my biggest kink is you wanting to be monogamous with me, so I’m sure we’ll figure this out.” 

Even’s mirth was evaporating due to the fact Isak’s mouth was so close to his, and his arms were wrapped around Even’s neck, insisting they be closer. “It is?” he murmured.

Isak’s eyelids were almost closed as he moved his chin up to kiss Even, but he murmured his short response before their mouths met. “Fuck, yeah.”

It took only a heartbeat for the kiss to turn into something deeper, brimming with impatient infatuation. And it only took a further ten seconds before they were interrupted again by Sana knocking at the apartment door. This time they were both laughing when they drew back from each other. 

“I keep forgetting about the world,” Isak said before sighing. “I better go get her; I don’t like seeing Sana in a bad mood—especially one I helped put her in.”

“We’re just pressing pause,” Even assured, before lightly kissing Isak one last time and easing onto his side.

Isak sat up in the bed scrubbing at his face, the covers still around his waist. “Take your time getting up. You have to be easy on yourself, OK?” he said over his shoulder before his eyes began to search the floor for his discarded clothes.

Even had to shake himself out of the stupor he found himself in, all because here was Isak, naked and in his room—in his  _ bed _ . And Isak didn’t seem phased in the slightest. It was hard to focus on anything else; all he could see were Isak’s broad shoulders and his gaze kept wondering up and down his spine. He wanted to kiss every single vertebrae…

Clearing his throat, Even tried to remember how to be helpful. “You can grab some of my clothes to wear. There’s sweat pants and t-shirts—middle drawer.” 

Easing back against the pillows, he watched as an unabashed Isak stood and walked to the drawers, completely naked. Nothing in this scenario seemed to bother him apart from the slight shiver that ran through him; it was cold outside of their duvet fort. The cool air made him quicken his pace which, in turn, made his ass jiggle. Even took this opportunity to just stare at him, because he supposed he could do that now. At the same time he ridiculed himself for not realising sooner why he liked to look at Isak so much. 

“Are you just gonna lay there and perv on me?” 

Even’s eyes snapped up to Isak’s face, who looked amused at the attention. “You told me to take my time, so… and your ass is right there.” He pointed to where it was, in case Isak needed help locating it. “ _ And _ it’s fucking perfect,” he added. 

Shaking his head, Isak pulled out a pair of grey joggers, and stepped into them. “ _ Perfect _ ?” he muttered to himself as the waistband snugged around his hips. Even was sure he was pouting at the loss. He would make sure that he got to see it as much as possible; sabotaging laundry day so they had to stay naked for the lack of clean clothing.

“It is. I think I’m gonna write a paper on the science behind your ass and how it is perfect—in every universe.” He grinned as Isak tried to roll his eyes and fight what looked like a return of bashfulness. “I’ll have to study it hard,” Even added. 

Grabbing a t-shirt, Isak was shaking his head, his imagination probably running away with him, before he tugged it on. “You’re so extra, I swear,” he finally managed.

“So you don’t mind?”

The only answer Even got was Isak’s crooked smile as he made his way to the door. It didn’t look like he hated the proposal.

Isak had almost disappeared into the hall before Even had a sensible thought. “Baby,” he called.

Isak stopped in his tracks, peering back at Even, the concern that showed in his eyes was never far from the surface. “What’s up?”

“Remember to wash your hands.”   

###  Isak 

Of course he was going to wash his hands. He  _ always  _ washed his hands when he needed to, and, if for any reason it slipped his mind, it was because Even threw him the fuck off. 

_ Perfect ass?  _

Subconsciously, Isak wiped his damp—and  _ clean _ —hands off on the seat of the joggers he'd borrowed, giving himself a bewildered once over, before hurrying to the door. 

He wasn't surprised at the impatient expression that Sana wore when he opened the door, he  _ was  _ surprised that Yousef was in tow, currently holding a stack of Tupperware in his arms, tall enough it almost impaired his vision. 

“You both need to get better at answering the door,” she said as a greeting, moving passed Isak and into the apartment carrying shopping bags. 

“We were sleeping,” Isak lied, he thought the unbidden grin might give it away, but Sana was pretty good at sifting his bullshit. More an expert at it, to be accurate. 

She sniffed, placing the bags on the kitchen side and stared at the entrance with an expression that begged the reason why Yousef was still outside, completely non verbally. “Did you turn to stone?” She decided to add. 

Isak nodded him in, he'd simply been polite and waited for permission to enter someone else's home for the first time. “Hey,” Isak said, grabbing two of the containers from the stack. Sana's mum had cooked? He hoped she’d made meatballs… 

Yousef sighed, stepping into the room and following the path Sana had made. “Thanks,” he said, with an apologetic shrug for Isak. “Sorry about busting in, I did say—”

“And _ I _ said I would be here at ten,” Sana cut in, rummaging around in the bags and putting the things out on the marble countertop. So far there was orange juice, a flask, some bunches of broccoli, and a small obscure vial.

Isak closed the door, trying not to get in the crossfire of the look that aimed at Yousef, Sana and all of her slight stature could face down a storm with that small but firm smile. “It’s fine, thank you. I appreciate it,” Isak tried to sound genuine, but he had been well on his way to round two. He should just be grateful there was a full and complete round one, but it would seem the more he got, the more he wanted.  _ Greedy _ —greedy for Even, he thought to himself with a smirk.

Yousef was setting the food down where Sana was already at work, so Isak followed suit trying to take in everything she’d brought. Before he could open his mouth to ask what was in the flask she’d brought, slow footsteps were coming down the hall. 

Even appeared, leaning against the door frame and looking unsure. And just like that, salt was rubbed in all of those wounds that had opened inside of Isak last night. It hurt him to see Even looking insecure, he should never feel that way. His hood was drawn up over his head, like when they’d been hiding hickies, but now it was because of cruel bruises. But Even could do nothing to hide his eye. As he stood there, visibly worrying the reaction he would confront, Isak felt fury and anger bubbling inside him again. 

On the surface, Sana was impassive, but she was still a moment too long. Isak knew she was gathering herself, smothering whatever reactions she felt. Yousef on the other hand was completely unaware; there was some bread in one of the bags and he’d ripped a chunk off and was eating it while humming something busy. He was probably aware of what had occurred—via Sana-via Eskild—but he seemed outwardly unperturbed about the whole thing. Isak was grateful for that. 

“Hey,” Even said softly. 

Sana smiled, her body easing out of it’s well disguised shock. “Good morning, sorry to get you out of bed,” she replied, actually sounding genuine for that. 

He returned the smile, strengthening in the normalcy playing out. “It’s fine.” He turned towards Yousef with a nod and introduced himself. “Even—but you probably know that.” He held his hand out. 

Nodding, Yousef was swallowing his mouthful. “Yousef,” he said, with grin, stumbling a few steps forward to shake Even’s hand. “I’m—uh,” he shrugged, leaning back against the countertop. “I’m Sana’s better half,” he added with a grin directed at Sana.

Her hands froze in the bags and she gave him a stare that was far too bland. To his credit, Yousef didn’t even flinch.  _ “Better half _ ,” she snorted, before returning to what she was doing. 

“OK,  _ equal _ ,” he amended. “Pretty much husband, anyway.”

Sana stopped again, now her hand was pressed firmly to her hip, head tilted to one side—Isak knew that was clear danger for anyone with sense. And yet still, no flinching. Yousef in fact continued to grin. Maybe he was a masochist. “ _ Pretty much husband?”  _

“Yeah, well your mum likes me… so, it’s a done deal.”

Isak cringed at the words; Yousef was  _ definitely  _ a masochist. He took the distraction, as Sana began to reply and her pitch rose perilously, to sidle up to Even, who was smiling a little wider at the interaction playing out in front of them. 

The conversation Isak had with Eskild, about not feeling shame on behalf of someone else who probably didn’t know what the word meant, was playing on repeat in his mind. Hesitating in front of Even, Isak wasn’t sure how they should be in front of other people. He wasn’t fully confident how they should be when it was just themselves yet. Licking his lips he looked up at Even, that growing warmth was directed at him now, as Even’s attention focussed on Isak, waiting for whatever he intended to say. 

“Don’t hide, you have nothing to be ashamed of,” he said quietly. Isak reached up hesitantly, and Even just watched him as he did so, not looking to stop him— _ trusting  _ him. Seeing that there was no resistance, Isak pushed back Even’s hood, offering a smile with the gesture. Isak’s pain was raw every time he saw a mark or bruise, but he kept that to himself—well beneath the surface. There was room in him to hide things now that Even allowed him to express his emotions, emotions that had sat hidden from view for too long. 

Even shouldn’t feel conscious, not in his home at least, and if anyone had anything to say about it, Isak would just kick them out. It was that simple. Isak realised, as he combed back hair that had gone astray, Even’s hand was gripping at his waist. Isak took the opportunity to move closer, wrapping his arms around Even, pulling him into a hug, and pushing his lips to Even’s cheek. Arms wrapped around Isak in the same reassuring embrace. 

“Thank you,” Even murmured at his ear, before kissing his jaw; simple and light, but it still sent a shiver down Isak’s spine. 

He was grinning, about to tell Even that he didn’t have to be grateful for something so small, but Sana’s voice cut in—very clearly—and Isak was reminded of the world again. 

“ _ See _ , why can’t you be like that? Instead of goading an argument?”

Yousef snorted as Isak turned back to the room, Even still held him around the waist. “If I did  _ that _ ,” he replied with a small nod at where they stood at the entrance to the living room. “You’d start gagging, and my ego would never recover.”

But despite his words, Yousef edged over to her with a grin. 

“You’ve never tried,” she replied tartly, seemingly intent on the bag of kale she’d unpacked, but she leant into him when he reached her side.

Whatever Yousef said to her would remain a mystery to Isak, but he bent low and whispered something in Sana’s ear that made her blush and look up at him through her lashes. “Later then,” she said with a smirk.

Her ire wasn’t completely diminished, Isak realised, as she aimed it directly at Isak when he started making those gagging noises on her behalf. Even was laughing softly because Isak could feel his breath exhaled along his neck. It only took such a simple thing to distract Isak, how were they ever going to be appropriate in company?

Clearing his throat, he decided that he still didn’t like to see Sana in a mood, and it was best he wasn’t the target. “What did you bring?”

She frowned at him like he may have lost half of his brain cells. “ _ Food _ .”

“Yeah, I can see that, but what… is it?” he asked, pointing at the plastic containers. 

“We figured you may not have time for cooking, and my mum had some leftovers,” she shrugged. “She  _ suggested  _ we bring it— _ and  _ she  _ suggested _ we go to the store and get some vegetables, too.” Somehow Isak didn’t think suggest was the right word, command might be better. One should never stand in the way of a Bakkoush woman and her plans, it was a lesson Isak had learned a while back. It was touching that they’d wanted to help, despite Isak feeling a tinge of nerves at the thought of everyone being alerted to what had happened last night. But they were friends— _ no _ , this was family. He could lean on them. It was OK.

“So, you now have some lamb tagine, couscous, fish soup, and— _ yes, Isak _ —there’s some meatballs,” she sent him a knowing look and he grinned right back. But then she hesitated for a heartbeat before going on. “And some mint tea,” she added, pointing to the flask, her glance flickered from Isak to Even and back again so quickly, Isak wasn’t sure it had happened at all. 

“That’s really kind of your mum—and you,” Even said, his arms were still tight around Isak, and Isak didn’t mind one bit. It was perhaps driving the sense from him, but that was also OK. “We do have some vegetables, I think—” 

But Sana was shaking her head. “No, I know what Isak buys and you need greens: kale, broccoli and spinach; vitamin K,” she stated. “And I brought some more orange juice too, that’ll help.”

“Vitamin K?” Isak put forward the abridged question. 

She tilted her head to one side, giving him a long suffering look. “It’s good for bruises—well, it helps with the clotting,” she said curtly, obviously feeling this is knowledge that Isak should be party to already, in fact he probably had heard it before somewhere. “And,” she continued, reaching into a bag. “I brought some black seed oil.”

“Black seed oil? Is that the stuff your mum says cures anything but death?” Isak scoffed.

“Yes, and it  _ does…  _ well, it helps for a lot of things. Anyway, you rub it onto the bruise and then rinse—or you can leave it on, it’ll just moisturise the skin. It might tingle a bit, that’s why people tend to wash it off after.” She had the vial that contained the oil in her hand and was turned towards them, but she stopped in her tracks, her eyes frozen on Even. “And, you know what? Isak can do that for you later,” she snorted, thrusting the bottle at Isak, and sounding put out, like she’d been asked to administer the treatment herself. Isak tried not to smirk remembering what she’d said in the group message yesterday, and what Even would be able to see himself. 

“Isn’t that homeopathy? Sana, I thought you were better than that,” he teased.

She shot him a blank expression. “No, Isak. I’m not saying this will cure anything but death. But some things contain vitamins and nutrients that help your body do things faster.” And she added a smile, like what you would expect to give a child when explaining something fairly simple.

“You’re the expert,” Isak admitted.

“I’m sure you pick a lot of stuff up from your mum,” Even added, directing it at Sana. 

Isak frowned in thought. It was true, her being a nurse, but how did Even know that? Isak knew about his connection to the hospice, now it looked like Even and Sana’s mum must have had contact enough to know her relationship to Sana. But now was not the time and place, he decided; Sana visibly dithered as she was thrown off by Even’s statement too. They knew each other, she’d recognised him the first time they’d met here. 

“Tingly oil, huh?” Even went on, seemingly oblivious to what he’d hinted at. Isak could feel his grin despite not being able to see his expression, it was enough on its own to derail Isak’s curious thoughts.

Sana was shaking her head as she began to put the food away, frowning at the contents of the fridge when she opened it. If Isak knew her—which he did—she was probably analysing why they would stock the shelves the way they were. She would never fail to express her dissatisfaction at the way things were stored at the apartment he’d shared with Eskild and Lin. 

“Whatever impure thoughts are going on in your head right now, Even,” she said with a reprimanding gaze in both their direction, like Isak had done something as well. “I’m sure I don’t want to hear it, so,” she concluded, looking as if to change the conversation. “I’m hungry.” The statement was directed at Yousef. “And I’m sure you both haven’t eaten, and  _ he  _ has made it clear he is starving—close to death on the way here, actually. Shall we eat together?” 

Isak wasn’t entirely sure how much of a say they all had in this, Sana taking up the matriarchal role as she was, but his stomach answered for him, rumbling loud enough for them all to hear. 

“Sounds good,” he put in, as Even hummed agreement in his ear. He really shouldn’t be near Isak’s ear, breathing and making noise like that. It was wholly off-putting. 

“I have some leftovers from the other night,” Even said, loosening his grip on Isak. “I made spaghetti,” he added. 

Isak turning to look up at him. “You did? On spaghetti day?” He was vaguely aware of how pathetically besotted he sounded, but he found it hard to give a fuck.

Grinning, Even nodded. So, he’d been here, keeping to the schedule that Isak made? He wasn’t sure why that made his stomach flip but it did. “I missed you,” he said, as if to voice where Isak’s thought were heading. And he didn’t care who was standing there, Isak tilted his chin up to kiss Even, because if he didn’t kiss him right now, he would end up saying something else that should probably be private. 

“ _ Oh God _ ,” Sana said from behind them, Isak laughed into Even’s mouth at her tutting. “You can leave  _ that  _ for later, too.”

“I’ll heat some food up,” Yousef stated as Isak pulled away from Even’s mouth. It was a mistake to kiss him; it was like trying to eat just one chocolate from the box: impossible. And the way Even was licking his lips didn’t help either. 

“I’ll give you a hand, we can do a collaboration,” Even offered. He moved away from Isak, towards the kitchen, but not before his hand had slipped down to grab one of Isak’s ass cheeks. Isak had restrain himself from yelping indignantly. 

“Sounds great.” Yousef’s reply was genuine. There wasn’t anyone Isak could see that Even or Yousef wouldn’t get along with, so they were bound to get on like a house on fire.

Making her way to the table, Sana added to the discussion. “Remember the kale, or spinach. Greens  _ somewhere,  _ please.” She settled down in a chair and Isak followed her, surreptitiously rubbing his ass—he’d get Even back for that—as he took the seat next to her. She watched the two men work away together with satisfaction on her face. 

“So, you studying too? I’m training to be a teacher, which means I’m getting better at handling Sana,” Yousef said, taking one of the lids from a container, and winking in Sana’s direction. Her expression turned from satisfaction to a scowl but she said nothing.

Even grunted a laugh. “A teacher? Sounds demanding,” he mused, fishing two saucepans out of the cupboard.

“I like a challenge.” 

Isak would liked to have been a fly on the wall when those two got home, Sana had a memory that would best an elephant, and Yousef seemed to be actively enjoying gaining more strikes—so to speak. 

Looking quickly over his shoulder at Isak, Even cleared his throat, preparing to answer the initial question. “I’m actually at film school,” he said, sounding surprised at himself. 

“Really?” Yousef asked excitedly. “That’s fucking cool.”

Isak was deprived of the chance to watch Even talk nervously, before snowballing into enthusiasm, about his studies, as Sana nudged against him with her shoulder. But the animated discussion that was now background noise was enough to keep him smiling, pride burning in his chest for Even.  

“You didn’t tell me he was in film school,” she said, looking put out.

Isak grunted. “I just found out, and it’s his business; I don’t want to speak for him.”

Sana was nodding, like it made sense to her. Maybe that was the reason she hadn’t discussed meeting him before? “I get that,” she mused. “So, everything is good?” she asked quietly with a small smile.

“I think so,” he replied. 

She looked between them both and then nodded again—just once, but appeased. “Good. I like you both together,” she said. “You suit each other.”

Isak watched Even as he laughed at Yousef, who was brandishing a spatula as if it were a sword. “I like us together, too.”

“Well, that much is evident,” she smirked, looking at his hair. “You really might need to start using that hair gel—keep it handy in your pocket if you ever decide to go out in public together.”

“Hair gel?”

“You know, in the care package Even gave you. All those weeks ago,” she trailed off. 

“Oh, yeah,” he muttered while absentmindedly running a hand through his hair. “Is it messy?”

She shrugged. “You have been  _ sleeping.”  _ There was an absurd amount or scorn that cradled the last word in her sentence. Clearly she knew they weren’t sleeping. “But, you’ve had a few days off now, we need to get back to studying—I’m missing a day myself.” And her face was composed to seriousness, as it should be. She was right.

“I know.” It was already the middle of the week, he’d missed three days so far. “I’ll make it in tomorrow,” he added. It would be hard, the thought of leaving the house was unappealing, not while Even might feel too insecure to go out himself. 

Studying him, Sana considered her next words before speaking. “You’ve been working hard so far. You’re ahead in the modules we take together. I’ll get the lesson plans for you from your other lectures and share my notes, take this week off and just begin fresh on Monday.” 

Part of him wanted to disagree, he didn’t want to slip. But he knew between Sana and Even, that wouldn’t happen. “OK,” he replied. They were only two weeks from the Christmas break anyway, it’s not like the pace was going to be fast—both teachers and the students were exhausted by this point. “OK, deal,” he repeated. 

“You’re doing just fine, Isak,” she gave him that reassuring smile. “You’re both going to be fine. It’s not just you two either, you know we’re all behind you.” And Isak knew that, he’d seen how much they all supported him. And he would let them, if he needed it. 

“I know that now,” Isak said softly, before frowning. With his friends in mind, and with what happened last night, Eskild played front and centre in his thoughts. “What did Eskild come to you for last night?”

Sana sniffed and pursed her lips. “You don’t want to know,” she said.

Isak rolled his eyes. “People keep saying that to me, and— _ yes _ —I kinda do. I want to know, because I want to do  _ something _ .” And that was no lie, he didn’t much care who the fuck had done this to Even, he wanted to even the score, however possible.

Initially a hard stare was aimed at him before Sana softened, her reply was said in a low tone. “To be honest, Isak, I don’t know what’s going on. I know the basics of what happened, but then Eskild was talking to my brother half the night.” Her brows furrowed, probably irked at the fact she didn’t know what was happening. It wouldn’t be out of need to know facts for the sake of simply knowing, but so that she could monitor they were taking the right course. “But I’m sure Eskild will let us know,” she shrugged. “When there’s something to know. Patience is a virtue—or  _ whatever _ .” Her tone was dismissive and irritated by the time she finished. She wasn’t the most patient person, not when it came to matters like this.

And Isak would snicker at that but he quite agreed with that sentiment. However, he trusted Eskild, both that he would do the best thing and that he wouldn’t get himself into danger. “You’re right,” he sighed. There was nothing else to do but wait.

“I’m always right,” Sana impressed with a tight smile. Isak grunted a laugh, trying to recover evidence to prove her statement incorrect. But the truth was, she wasn’t often wrong, so the task was hard. Before he could think of anything, she carried right on. “And you  _ are  _ doing something—something that no one else can do,” she said simply. Her words made Isak smile, smothering the need to disprove her claims.

“Here we go,” Yousef announced, arriving at the table with two large sharing dishes of food, Even wasn’t far behind with more. 

“It’s quite an interesting meal,” Sana stated, not unpleasantly, just amused. 

Isak was eagerly looking over the food being spread out: spaghetti, kale, the soup and bread. It wasn’t a typical breakfast, but this wasn’t a typical day, he supposed. Sana cleared her throat, and it wasn’t until then that he realised she was staring at him.

“ _ What _ ?”

“We are going to need bowls or plates, Isak, and glasses. I’m fine with water, but you both should make the most of the juice—energy,” she said, quirking an eyebrow at him as he rose from the table.

“I don’t know what impure thoughts are in you mind, Miss Bakkoush, but I’m sure I don’t want to hear about them,” he muttered in response. She hid her snickers in a palm as he made quick work of the task. 

By the time he returned, Yousef was grinning sheepishly at him from the seat he’d been occupying. But he didn’t mind, that way he was next to Even. Food was ladled out quickly, as soon as Isak placed the dishes on each place setting and, as he took his seat, Sana was dumping an absurd amount of kale onto Even’s plate, despite his weak and amused protests.

“You need it,” she affirmed, her expression unmovable.  

Even sighed in contented defeat, before picking up his fork and tucking into the food. He was soon humming in appreciation as he darted between his own food and what Sana had brought. “This soup is amazing,” he said.

“My mum is the apex chef,” Sana remarked, and Yousef nodded. 

“Is she looking for a son?” Even asked between mouthfuls.

Sana turned to look at Isak. “There's a queue. But I think you'll be an in law anyway—skip the adoption process entirely.” 

Isak shook his head at the presumption, but Even nudged against his knee with his own; assurance. He turned to watch him for a moment, quietly sated at seeing Even vigorously enjoying the food. 

He always hesitated at this point when eating with Sana, waiting for her to be ready, despite it not meaning a thing to him. It was just manners. Picking up her spoon, Sana said one word under her breath— _ Bismillah _ —then she looked up to Isak with a smile before helping herself. And he noticed Yousef was as patient as himself, in fact he might have muttered the same thing under his breath, too. 

There was a pleasant stillness in the room while everyone got down to filling their stomachs. Isak was copying Even, and dotting around the plate to try a bit of everything before gnawing on a wedge of bread. 

“The spaghetti is good. It’s better than mine,” he said, turning to Even at his side. 

But he was shaking his head. “That’s just impossible. You see the carrots?”

Isak frowned down at his plate. There were carrots. Ordinary looking diced carrots. “I see,” he replied, bewildered.

“They aren’t anywhere near as perfect as you slice them.” He was beaming at Isak, and Isak couldn’t help the ridiculous blush that heated his cheeks.

_ Over sliced carrots?  _

Sana clearing her throat broke the spell. “As well diced as Isak’s carrots may be, Yousef is actually the master of slicing vegetables.”

Yousef was halfway to his mouth with a spoonful of soup when he froze, frowning at Sana and—what Isak would assume was—rare public praise.

“ _ The master _ ?” he asked, voice incredulous. 

An impatient glance was shot Yousef's way, as if he was letting the side down. “You don't think my mum eats just anyone's cooking?” she snorted. “And there were no leftovers that night, either. So, that concludes that you are the best chef sat here.” She nodded in satisfaction at her own declaration. 

Yousef was grinning at her now. “Well I never would have won this prestigious award without you; behind every talented chef is a strong, passionate and determined woman.” Sana was pursing her lips, all to stop the smile that wanted to break out on her face. 

“ _ Or man,” _ Even corrected.

“Erm,” Isak cut in, raising a hand. “I was assisting Yousef that night, remember? So, I get at least half of the credit.” 

Sana snorted. “ _ Half _ ?”

“That's right,” Even said. “I remember you telling me.  _ And _ no cardamom was used,” he added. 

“No. No cardamom was used,” Isak repeated with a smirk, placing his hand on Even’s knee undercover of the table and reenacting the gentle strokes behind the joint, just where he'd been tickled earlier. 

Sana studied them, confusion melting into an idea. “Well, the only way to settle this is a cook off,” she declared. “Mum wants you both around for a family meal anyway.” Her words were divided between both Isak and Even. 

“She does? When?” Isak asked. He didn't want whatever Even had hidden away to become an issue. 

“Weekend after next,” she said with a shrug. “She's working flat out until then.” 

“As usual,” Isak mused, unaware that his stroking had ventured further up Even’s inner thigh than he'd intended. Isak was made abruptly aware of its effects as Even started coughing, choking on his juice. 

Removing his hand, he aimed a sheepish grin in the direction of Even’s reddening face. Well, he had meant to get him back for the ass grab.

Sana was all concern as she examined him. “Are you OK?” 

Nodding, Even hummed confirmation. “Just some food went down the wrong way.” 

“Next weekend OK for you?” she pushed on. 

Even’s nodding didn't stop. “Sure, sure. Count me in,” he answered, casting a sidelong look at Isak that said he hadn't been altogether listening and was probably still thinking about other  _ things.  _ Isak would have to remind him later. 

“Well, you guys better come prepared to lose,” Yousef stated, leaning back in his chair. His plate was clear and Sana was mopping the last of her soup with a wedge of bread. In fact, Isak realised they'd all managed to clear the food, despite the banter. 

“Lose? I don’t think I know what that means,” Isak shot back. 

A dismissive but delicate grunt came from Sana. “You know when you bet you’d get a higher score than me in first term tests? And I got a six, you got a five?  _ That’s  _ losing, Isak.”

He spluttered indignantly. “I don’t remember it going that way at all.” 

“I have the papers to prove it,” she replied with an expression that dared him to contradict her.

“ _ Fine _ . Fine.” He threw up his hands in defeat. “We’ll bring sparkling grape juice.” But they would definitely win, there was no way they  _ could  _ lose. 

“Mum will love you even more for that.” The smile that he received from Sana was so sweet, he could forget about getting one up on her somehow—well, until she opened her mouth. “Well, seeing as you sat and gossiped while the food was prepared, I think it's only right that you should tidy up.” 

Isak's jaw dropped open. “ _ Gossiped _ ? You were, too.” Not that he minded cleaning up, but still, it was the principle. 

“Yes, and I'm still a guest,” she replied smugly. “ _ And _ Yousef and I have things to do today.” 

“We do?” he piped up. Isak had only been half aware of the discussion that had picked up between Yousef and Even, over whether they should do a separate course on this cook off and then maybe collaborate on dessert. It sounded more like a team affair than a competition when  _ they  _ discussed it.  

Another one of those glances was shot at Yousef from Sana, like he was missing the glaringly obvious. “Yes, we do.” 

“Oh,” he said, catching on to her sentiment. “The  _ things _ —I remember now.”

Isak snickered when she rolled her eyes at Yousef. He loved them together, the perfect mix of contrary and compassion; there was no missing it if you knew Sana well enough. 

“I'll help,” Even said, nudging against Isak's shoulder. “More hands make lighter work.” 

Sana was standing from the table, readying herself to go, but she was still very much aware of the conversation. “Don't baby him, don't be fooled by the puppy eyes.” 

“ _ Puppy eyes _ ?” Isak repeated in bewilderment. He didn't have puppy eyes. Did he? 

“Actually Isak has been babying me, so it's about time I return the favour. Plus we also have  _ things _ to do.” 

“ _ Things _ ?” Isak repeated softly before he caught on to Even’s notion when he raised his eyebrows.

Swinging her coat around her shoulders, Sana started for the door, shaking her head. Yousef wasn't far behind her, so Isak took this as cue to start tidying away. They had  _ things  _ to do. “Well, good. Get on with those  _ things,  _ but make sure you rest, Even _ ”  _ she muttered, dividing a hard look between both of them—Isak knew he would be held accountable if Even didn’t take her advice. Zipping up her coat she waited, more or less, patiently for Yousef to catch up. “And I'll be over on the weekend with the notes, OK?” 

Isak was piling the plates by the sink already, and Even was on his heels, holding the cups. “Sure, just give me a heads up.” 

“If you need anything, just shout,” Yousef added, standing at Sana's side. “And it was good to meet you, Even.” 

“Likewise,” Even nodded in response before leaning against the kitchen worktop. “But I think we'll be OK,” he added, turning to smile at Isak. 

Sana was smirking again, her eyes darting to the fridge then back to Isak. “Looks like you do have everything you need.” Even frowned before turning to where her eyes had lingered as they called out their goodbyes and slipped out of the apartment. 

Isak froze at the sink, suddenly remembering what was there, clear as day, for everyone to read.  _ Fuck _ .

Without looking at Even, who remained studying the fridge in complete silence, Isak tried to think of something to say. It took him three attempts before words escaped his lips. “I'm just gonna get a shower, I'll do this later,” he muttered. Turning, he studied the ground as he made an exit with blood suddenly pounding in his ears. 

Isak made a quick path to Even’s ensuite, his mind tumbling over the possibility that he may have acted prematurely. They should take it slow, logically. Why had he thought literally spelling it out would be a good idea? 

His hand turned the shower dial, water spurting out at a pleasant speed. After checking the spray on the back of his hand, he turned the temperature down slightly. Isak didn't have the time or capacity to marvel at this room that he'd never stepped foot in before—earthy tones and thick leafed plants surrounding him—because his thoughts were a whirlwind over his hasty actions, all done within the haze of last night. His stomach began to turn, knotting uncomfortably when he heard Even’s brisk approach. 

Standing back from the shower, and trying not to melt into the tiles, he stared at the doorway as Even exploded through. He opened his mouth to try and find some light footwork around his mistake, but how did you explain it away? Apparently, he didn't need to worry about finding words because Even didn't quit his advance until they were toe to toe. There was an intense look in his eyes as he stared down at Isak, whose back was flush with the wall. 

“Listen, I know it's stupid—” he stuttered out before Even cut in firmly. 

“Say it.” 

Isak frowned. “ _ What _ ?” 

“Say it,” Even repeated. “Out loud.” 

Licking his lips, Isak swallowed down his own nerves. If Even wanted him to say it, that meant he wanted to hear it, right? But the logic didn't help Isak quench his anxiety at saying this for the first time in his life. Not just saying it, meaning it. But his own apprehension evaporated when he considered that Even might never have heard those words. 

His gaze had been dancing from throat to shoulder to lower lip, trying to find stability. But now he knew where he'd find it. Isak looked Even straight in the eye, fear lifting like a fog. 

“I love you,” he said, voice firmer than he'd imagined it would be despite it being a quiet confession. “Well, I had to use a zero for the second O, but—” There was only one of each letter, so he'd had to improvise, like Even had with his own message. But Even was shaking his head, face still impassive except for the intensity. The gesture stopped Isak's flow of stammered words; Even didn't care about the zero. 

“Say it again.” His voice was firm and low. 

This time Isak snorted a laugh which quickly dissipated. With anyone else he would balk at being asked to repeat himself—for whatever reason—without a please or thank you, knowing he’d been clearly heard the first time. But this wasn't anyone, this was Even. Even who now looked at him desperately, and Isak could see him trying to discern if this was real or not. 

This time Isak reached up to lace his fingers behind Even’s neck, relaxing his shoulders in hope that the emotion he could feel coiling tight and tense within Even’s body would soften at his example. Isak's fingers skated slow patterns on his nape. 

“I love  _ you _ , Even.” This time he said it slower, and a heavy breath left him in the wake of the words. 

He didn't have a chance to fully inhale because Even’s mouth was on his, crashing against him, full bodily, like he needed this to survive; he needed Isak to live. Even’s hands were moving over him frantically like this morning; it felt like Even wanted to be everywhere at once, that notion made Isak's head spin. His own hands were full of Even’s hair, and Even was already pushing under his t-shirt. He managed to gasp for air when Even began to kiss down his throat. 

“I guess that's OK?” He intended it to be asked with some sass or tease, but it was lost as Even’s thumbs ran over his nipples. Now he was making those pathetic noises that he couldn't contain again. 

Even moved back to Isak’s mouth. “Yes,” he said, out of breath himself. His hands pushed under the waistband of Isak’s borrowed sweat pants until they were firmly gripping ass. Isak swallowed before dropping his head back against the wall and letting out a groan. Even pushed his hips against him, but he was already turned on before their bodies were pressed hard to each other. 

“Baby, you should take it easy,” he managed to stutter out into Even’s hair, because his mouth was now enthusiastically sucking love bites onto Isak’s neck—and not the careful ones that were easy to hide. But he meant the caution, Sana had been right; Even should rest. 

Stopping to gaze at Isak, Even looked almost perplexed—torn might be the better word, Isak decided. “But I fucking can’t. You’re here,” he said before pushing a quick kiss to Isak’s open mouth. “And you’re saying those things.” Another kiss landed on Isak’s lips. “And you’re real, and your mine, and I’m yours…” The sentence was lost as Even focussed on unrepentantly kissing him. 

“Well,” Isak murmured, cupping Even’s face and urging him to pause. “I’m going to have to make you. We’re not going anywhere, and you need to heal.” 

But a smirk pulled at Even’s lips. “You’re going to make me?” 

Isak huffed a laugh before shaking his head. “I have a duty,” he added, before pulling the small vial Sana had given him from his pocket. 

“Oh, why didn’t you say?” Even’s was grinning now and Isak could do nothing but continue to shake his head, knowing he couldn’t control his own smile. He wanted to chide but Isak knew he wouldn’t sound genuine at all.

“Whatever your thinking, this is purely medicinal,” Isak stated, before moving Even by his waist to the middle of the room and placing the vial on the sink. 

“ _ Sure _ ,” Even said, the word buried in sarcasm. 

Isak ignored him as he focussed on the work at hand. He eased the sweater up over Even’s head, taking his time so he wouldn’t move or jolt his muscles too sharply. The t-shirt followed and they ended up in a neat pile on the floor. Clearing his throat, Isak tried to focus on something other than his own persistent hard on before he pushed Even’s trousers down and helped him step out of them. He hadn’t bothered to put on underwear either.

“Right,” he said, as much to himself as anyone else, trying his hardest not to stare at Even’s cock. 

“Right,” Even repeated through his grin. “What’s next Doctor Valtersen?” 

Isak rolled his eyes as he grabbed the vial. “I’m just gonna put this on your bruises. Like Sana said, then we’ll wash it off in the shower.” The stream of water had been running the whole time, steam billowing and rolling out of the open door and the mirror was beginning to fog up too. He might pass off his flushing from the heat, despite knowing it wasn’t that at all. 

“In the shower,” Even mused. “Sounds like a plan, Doctor. You will eventually get a PHD, right? You’re so smart, I can imagine you as a Doctor.”

Isak shrugged his shoulders as he poured some oil into his hand before spreading it between both palms, trying hard not to lose his wits under the genuine praise. “Maybe,” he said absentmindedly. “ _ Eventually _ —I guess.” It was a long term goal, but not set in stone. He didn’t need to do it all in one go. 

“Doctor Valtersen,” he said again, there was some form of pride in his voice when he said it—if it was possible to both be proud and tease. If anyone could do that, it was Even. “God, that’s fucking hot. I’m gonna be ill all the time so you have to look after me. I can be a  _ good  _ patient.”

Isak had started to rub tenderly over the first bruise: just over his ribs. His focus on eliminating the blemishes at the front of his mind but he still managed a snort of laughter. “I doubt that,” he retorted. “I’ll be a Doctor in physics anyway, not a medical Doctor,” he added.

“Didn’t you say the cosmos are within us?” 

Isak looked up at him, impressed at the recollection of their conversation mostly, and partly beginning to soften beneath Even’s charm… and then the very small minority left was scoffing at what he thought was corny. “That's right, but I don't know if I'll be able to help if you have a broken leg, or some shit like that.”

“I'm pretty sure you're all I need,” Even countered.

This time Isak did sigh. “Christ, you don't stop do you?” he muttered. But there was no denying his smile, even if he could control his face, he sensed that Even already knew the effect his words had on him.

Even’s mouth had opened to say something, but it was forgotten and a low hiss took over as Isak's palm passed over a graze on his hip. Immediately, Isak pulled his hand away.

“ _ Sorry _ —I'm sorry. Should I stop?” he looked up worryingly at Even but found only a amorous look on his face as he shook his head.

“It's fine. You're doing fine, keep going. I like the tingly feeling.” It felt strange that, in his tone, Even seemed to be reassuring him.

Licking his lips, Isak looked back at the graze. He'd already coated it with some oil, despite Even’s assurance, he moved on to the next wound: a bruise on his shoulder. He continued his work quietly, humming to the light remarks Even made, who gradually quietened himself. As Isak worked and moved around him, Even’s muscles softened, and relief began to ebb out of him on sighs as fingers eased out knots from his muscles.

“You have to let me know if you feel pain in your joints, or neck— _ wherever _ , OK?” Isak murmured as he stood in front of Even again, fingers dabbing gingerly at the bruising on his temple.

“Yes, Doctor,” he smirked. But his stoicism—that could have been perceived as cockiness by anyone else but Isak—slipped away as a flat stare was levelled at him. “I will, I promise,” he amended, ducking his head to land a tender kiss on Isak's cheek. “You're good at this,” he murmured, remaining close to Isak's face. The tip of his nose made a path from cheek to slide alongside Isak's nose before another light kiss found its way onto his mouth.

Blinking, Isak tried to fight the spell that Even so easily cast on him. “Good at what?” he asked faintly when his brain caught up.

Even huffed a short laugh before he replied. It seemed to Isak that he decided to change his original answer. “Everything,” he said simply, but his eyes held sincerity as he looked at Isak.

And there were those barriers overcome that Even seemed to scale so easily. It must be his long legs, Isak decided. He found himself wanting to cling to Even, like  _ he  _ was the one in need of healing. It was the oddest quandary to find himself in: here, after everything Even had endured last night, yet Isak felt on his knees, as if Even was rescuing him—no,  _ healing  _ him. He realised that’s how he’d always felt around Even. 

A sharp need stabbed at Isak to hear his fridge magnet sentiment reflected back at him. At a loss for words, Isak licked his lips trying to find something to say in response. He'd never been one to ask for anything. “We should wash it off.” 

Even nodded but stayed quiet, clearly seeing the undercurrents in Isak. After the stillness stretched out, he tried to bridge the gap. “Are you coming?” he asked, jerking his head towards the shower.

Isak hesitated before he nodded yes, he needed to wash too. “Ok,” he added. Even’s eyes flittered down Isak's body before a smirk tugged at his mouth. But instead of state the obvious, his fingers reached out to pull at the hem of Isak's t-shirt, tugging him closer before lifting it up his body and over his head. Then hands pushed his trousers over his hips, falling easily to pool at his feet, and all Isak was left to do was step out of them. This created a second, less tidy, pile of clothes.

Warm fingers laced through his own as Isak stood in a stupor. Then, with a grin, Even pulled him into the corner of the room where the stream was pelting from the shower head. It was a wet room, the water ran down the gently sloping tiles and away through a drain in the heated flooring. There was no shower curtain or glass panes to orienteer, so it was a simple journey until they were both stood close and facing each other under the water. 

“I’m glad you came with me, I have some hard to reach areas,” Even’s eyebrows rose and his grin hadn’t gone anywhere.

Isak clicked his tongue in fond exasperation. “I’m sure you’ve been showering just fine without me for years now.” He was trying to ignore the rivulets that ran and slipped over Even’s skin, and the direction they were heading, as he picked up the soap. 

“I  _ am  _ sore… I don't think I can reach like normal,” he hit back without missing a beat. 

Hands lathered, Isak tried not to laugh at Even’s pandering. It was cute as fuck to be wanted like this; it wasn't just words, the truth was in his eyes whenever Isak looked into them. Instead of answer, Isak focussed on running his hands down Even’s shoulders. Perhaps he only needed to get the areas with oil, but this was a good excuse to make the most of his status as a helping hand. He was pretty sure Even wasn't complaining at how his touch lingered on him, gently rubbing suds into his skin. But his mind was caught like a record on that dire need that just wouldn't go away. His words kept catching in his throat when he decided it was probably best to change the subject. 

“ _ What _ ?” Even asked softly. 

Isak blinked back to himself. They'd been quiet and he'd been focussing a little to hard in making sure every inch easily reached was gently cleansed.

“What?” Isak repeated frowning up at him and not sure what Even meant.

That small, amused smile was playing on Even’s face. That was an expression Isak could remember from their first meeting, like he knew more than any normal human could about Isak. “You're thinking something. Just say it, you know you can.” 

Isak watched water drip down Even’s face. How was it easier to say it than to ask for it? Why was he so nervous about asking for reassurance? Just because Isak loved  _ him _ , didn't automatically mean Even loved him back, despite him being happy at how Isak felt. And Even was honest, he wouldn't lie. 

“Baby, what?” He urged into the quiet. 

Isak chewed his lip before meeting Even’s eyes. He had to know. “Do you, too?” He'd missed out some key words but he was sure Even would catch on. 

Judging by the way his concerned frown broke into a look of delight and awe, it made sense to him. And then hands were cupping Isak's face and Even crowded him. “I do,” he said simply. 

Tipping his chin up, Isak moved his mouth closer to Even’s. “Say it,” he more or less demanded in the softest way possible. Even  _ had  _ asked it of him—twice. 

Even worried his lip. “If I start saying it, I might not stop,” he mused. “You might get tired of it.” It was said lightly, but Isak sensed a fear was present that the words would fall on deaf ears. He tried to shake his head, but it was difficult given that Even had him firmly in hand. 

“No, I won't. Never,” Isak reassured urgently, tripping over his words. 

Taking a deep breath, Even focussed on Isak's eyes. He looked to be stealing himself before he said it, gathering the courage to take the plunge. “I love you.  _ Just  _ you, Isak.” 

Isak swallowed, letting the words sinking in. They seemed to collide with his flesh like the water raining down on them, but, instead of bouncing off, they were absorbed, dispersing into him, setting off fireworks beneath his skin. His hands had stopped on Even’s waist and he realised he’d find no words in this moment. Instead, he lurched forward, mouth landing on Even’s who took him just as eagerly. 

Even pulled their bodies together, and the motion sent pleasure jolting through Isak. The feel of Even’s body pressed to his, nothing between them, made him feel high; dizzy; flying. High and hungry for these kisses—deep, thorough kisses—that managed to boil the blood in his veins in a heartbeat. His hands had started to move again, sweeping up Even’s long back, before heading back down to palm his ass because  _ he  _ had the perfect ass. The suds were mostly gone now. 

“Shouldn’t we go lay down?” Even asked when Isak pulled back to breathe. “I want to put my mouth on you.”

But Isak was shaking his head. He had other ideas, and he would be going first; Even said he could be a good patient, lets see how true that was.

“No, I’m not done,” he managed to reply.

Even grunted a laugh. “We could slip, and I don’t want you to have bruises too.”

In all fairness that was a sensible worry, but there were ways around that. Placing his palms on Even’s chest, Isak guided him the few steps backwards, until he was pressed to the wall. “You’ll just have to stay still,” he said, staring down Even as he opened his mouth to retort. 

Giving up on defying Isak, he shrugged his shoulder. “You’re the boss.”

Isak highly doubted that, and he would argue that this was not the case at all, but he found that his lips were on Even’s throat instead. Fingers began to comb through Isak’s hair as he kissed over the bruises as carefully as he could. This was the start of his plan, he just didn’t know where it would end up, or where Even would draw the line. 

There was a bruise on Even’s shoulder so his lips lingered there for a moment, kissing over the darkened skin like he could make it better with sheer determination alone. Then Isak made a trail next down the centre of Even’s chest before diverting to kiss over his ribs. Once every square millimeter of hurt was attended to there, he moved lower still, hesitating before lightly brushing over the graze on Even’s hips with his lips. There was no wince this time, no sharp intake of breath. All Isak could hear were inhales and exhales that got deeper,  _ heavier _ , and carried with them soft sounds of pleasure at what Isak was doing. He smirked into the flesh beneath his mouth having figured out the key to keeping Even quiet. 

He’d fully intended to to turn Even around and put his mouth to the blemishes on his back too, but he found he was kneeling now, in front of Even, his own anticipation and need probably as high as Even’s. Slowly, he kissed his way back to Even’s belly button, and Even made shallow gasps every time Isak’s mouth pushed against him. Flattening his hands on Even’s thighs, Isak looked up to find himself being watched by wide eyes. Even’s lips were parted in anticipation of what Isak intended to do. 

“You don’t have to—” 

“Do you want me to stop?” Isak cut over Even. Of course he knew he didn’t have to do this. He wanted to.

“Baby—” Even began again. Isak could see he wasn’t pushing away, he just didn’t know how to recieve pleasure from anyone. 

“Do you want me to stop?” he asked again, softly but intent that Even answer.

Isak watched him swallow before he shook his head. “No,” he said quietly. 

“If you want me to, you’ll say?”

Now Even was nodding. “OK.”

“OK,” Isak repeated, smiling up at Even. He waited until he saw the tension flow from Even, his shoulders relaxing back onto the tiles just as Isak began to kiss him again. His lips trailed down, passing over wet, soft hair that thickened as he moved closer to the base of Even’s cock. Then he was kissing over smooth, hard skin… 

Isak moved one hand to wrap around the shaft as he reached the tip. Even’s fingers were still in his hair, there was no force behind them, they just made soothing patterns against Isak’s skull. He was entirely sure that Even would be satisfied with whatever Isak chose to give, and that made Isak want to give him everything. 

His lips slipped over the head, his own stomach tightening in pleasure at the flustered sob that broke from Even’s chest. His tongue slid along the slit as his hand gently eased Even’s foreskin back by stroking down his cock. Isak could taste him now, the freshness of the shower and the saltiness that was a natural part of this. He let Even deeper into this mouth before pulling back, bringing his hand along in one smooth motion.

“Fuck, Isak…  _ fuck,”  _ Even growled. His voice was thick and deep, that on it’s own was a turn on for Isak, how his voice changed when he was aroused. 

Isak would smirk to himself if his mouth wasn’t full of Even’s dick, and his tongue more preoccupied with sweeping around the head before teasing against the slit again. He stayed right there, his lips lightly passing back and forth over the glans. Then he looked up, back at the wide eyed mess that was Even. He was frowning down at Isak, his mouth open, but when their eyes met he let out another deep groan. 

Before Even had emptied his lungs, Isak moved forward again, taking as much of Even’s cock as he could. Isak felt as Even dropped his head back against the tiles, and satisfaction flooded him as the fingers in his hair tightened. There was still no force, but there was need. Even liked this, he wanted this, Isak was doing this right for him. 

The noises grew louder that fell from Even’s lips as Isak kept working up and down his cock, with his hand and mouth, with each motion he managed to allow Even further into him, ignoring the tears that pricked at the corners of his eyes or the hard tiles under his knees. The only thing that mattered were the incoherent moans that Even made, and the hand that guided his head. 

Even’s thighs began to shake before he managed to utter words. “I’m gonna come, baby,” he gasped desperately. Isak wasn’t sure if he was letting him know so he could stop or not, but Even didn’t tell him, or push him away. Isak didn’t want to stop either; he wanted to give  _ everything _ . “You don’t have—,” he started again but was cut off as Isak let Even’s dick push to the back of his throat. His fingers tightened further in Isak’s hair, but somehow it felt good, and Even just began to cuss rapidly, repeating  _ fuck _ in whimpers as Isak moved quickly to the tip before crashing back down. 

It was just Isak’s name then that was released, reprised over and over like a dirty prayer as warmth spilled down Isak’s throat and Even came. He kept moving slowly until the words died in Even’s mouth and his body jerked in sensitivity.

Sitting back on his haunches, Isak looked at Even who was raking a hand through wet hair while trying to catch his breath. Isak was panting as well, he realised, letting himself drink in Even while his mouth and lips tingled. Even watched him right back, desperation still lingering in his eyes, before holding out a hand. Isak took it and let himself be pulled to his feet. 

Hurled into Even’s arms, Isak instantly relaxed into the body encompassing his own. Blissful minutes were dragged out as they recovered, chests heaving together, the shower spray still raining over them, arms tight around the other. Even’s mouth broke the impasse by pushing a kiss to Isak’s throat. 

“That was fucking amazing,” he murmured. 

Isak hummed noncommittally. “I think I can probably do better, with practise.”

Even’s laughter was soft against Isak’s skin. “Firstly, I doubt it. Secondly, I am willing to sacrifice myself for science here.”

Snorting, Isak pulled back to look at him. “Such a martyr.”

“That’s me,” Even grinned. 

“Anyway, you  _ need  _ to rest now,” Isak stated, slipping back to seriousness. “That’s enough excitement for today.” He reached over to the heated rack, grabbing two towels before he turned off the water. He returned to find Even frowning at him. 

“Are you sure about that? Because I need to get you back, the score’s uneven.”

Isak wrapped the first towel around Even’s waist before he did the same with the second. “There’s no score,” he murmured before smirking. “But there’s always tomorrow.”

The look that Even was giving him said this conversation was far from agreed upon.  _ He was the boss? _ But he followed all the same when Isak padded out of the bathroom to throw himself in the bed. Even was only a heartbeat behind, snuggling in close to Isak as the covers were pulled over them. There was a stillness for a moment where Isak considered that perhaps Even  _ had  _ taken his advice to just rest. That was before Even murmured against his skin.

“You know, being next to you, I’m not really sure what I’m capable of in my sleep. Have you ever heard of sleep blow jobs?”

“ _ What _ ?” Isak spluttered.

“You know, like sleepwalking but… sleep dick sucking.”

“You’re fucking impossible, you know that?” But he couldn’t help his own laughter, as he pushed a kiss to Even’s head. 

Even was humming sleepily. “But you still love me,” he mused.

Isak’s heart flipped at those words. “Always,” he whispered back. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Blueball status: rectified
> 
> P.S. I know this ended up a big pile of smoosh, and I'm kinda sorry...
> 
> P.P.S. Those things in the shower....


	10. Chapter Nine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Confident and sweet? Isak, is that why you were so nervous when you were looking around the apartment? You thought I was sweet?” His words teased.
> 
> Instead of becoming defiant, that crooked smile bloomed. “No, I thought: holy fuck, he’s hot.”
> 
> Even’s jaw dropped. “You didn’t?”
> 
> “I’m pretty sure my subconscious knew what was going on when that door first opened,” he added, twinning his arms around Even’s neck. “It just took a while for the rest of me to catch up.” Isak scanned his face thoughtfully. “What about you? What did you think?”
> 
> And Even didn’t need to think about the answer. “I just knew you were different from anyone else I’d ever met before, or that I ever would meet—unique. And I wanted to protect that. That and you were stupidly cute.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry this update took such a long time, for whatever reason I haven't been completely happy with it, and it's taken a long time to put together to feel OK. 
> 
> But I hope you like it <3 
> 
> Love, Becs

##  Chapter Nine

###  Even

It was Saturday morning and they were doing the exact same thing that had been occupying their time the last few days: nothing much apart from each other. Even’s room had become the perfect mess—not dirty, just a blend of Isak’s and his own things: clothes, books, DVD’s, cups, flannels…  

Even knew that eventually they would have to get back to a normal routine—by Monday, in fact. Their lounging around—naked for the most part—for days that blended together seamlessly, would have to be restricted to the weekends. But even then, the thought of them both doing their own separate things and coming back to each other at the end of the day was something Even looked forward to. He’d already been eager to get home to Isak, before either had realised what was going on between them. That seemed like such a long time ago now.

Mentally, Even had been prepared for Isak to withdraw to his room at some point, to have some space—which he would have understood. But that just hadn’t happened. Where one of them was, the other was pulled towards, and it wouldn’t be long before they were a heap on the sofa, or sat at the table eating, or back in bed. 

They would eat, talk, laugh, and love; it was perfect. The only subdued moments occurred when one of them, for whatever reason, noticed his journal—currently laying closed and next to the vase on his drawers. Isak could sense something, Even knew it, and he wished that it was as easy for him to be open with his past as Isak was about  _ everything _ . But the issue was, there were a lot of firsts between them, and this was no exception. Even had never spoken to anyone about his life at any great length or detail. Moments passed him by where the urge to talk about himself flared, but he couldn’t construct the words on his tongue. 

_ How did you open up for the first time? _

“So, do we actually  _ need  _ any of this stuff?” Isak asked. The question prodded Even out of his reverie. 

He'd simply been watching Isak swipe his thumb up the screen of his phone, scrolling through a list of products. He lay on Even’s chest while Even ran his fingers through hair that was a delightful, tangled mess, both still happy to laze in bed. It was gloomy outside, and that fact only confirmed Even’s silently held theory that this was the only spot in the universe worth being in. 

_ Where else was there to be? _

Letting out a contented sigh, he hummed in consideration. “No, not really. But it can be fun.” 

Isak chewed his lip. “I don't think we have any shortage of fun.” Pink still tinged his cheeks when they talked like this. Even hoped that would never change. 

“That's true,” he murmured. And it  _ was  _ true, he'd never been so comfortable with someone. Here they would be, making out and laughing, before seriousness took over, but that was easily broken by laughter again if something unexpected occurred. 

Like yesterday, when Even had been a little too enthusiastic in rolling onto his back, because Isak had been adamant at wanting to find every single one of his sensitive spots, and he couldn’t deny Isak anything. But he'd misjudged exactly how much mattress was remaining and ended up sprawled on the floor. Once the mirth had petered out, Isak had slipped from the bed to join him, then the carpet had seen some action. They were both dead set on exploiting every surface in the apartment.

“So we just need lube?—Which we have.” 

Even grunted a laugh. “It's not quite that simple, you've been watching too much porn, baby.” 

Isak shot him a disgruntled look. “I know it's not  _ that _ simple. But, what I'm saying is, it doesn't have to be  _ that  _ complicated.” 

“That's true.” It wasn't complicated for Even, but he could understand that from Isak's perspective it might be overwhelming. Plus, he was perfectly happy with what they were doing; he didn't need anything more than Isak next to him. “And there's nothing to say you'll even like ass play.” Even shrugged. Not everyone did, and that was fine too. 

“ _ Ass play _ ,” Isak snickered in a way that let Even know he was formulating questions that he was nervous to ask. 

“I forget how mature you are sometimes.” Even grinned at the scowl that was sent  his way. But the disgruntled expression quickly gave into Isak's curiosity that, in Even’s experience, couldn't be sated once it was piqued, not until he asked the questions dancing in his mind. He loved the way that Isak seemed so naturally known to him; Even didn't have to work at figuring Isak out. 

“Do you—” he began before licking his lips. “Do  _ you _ like it?” 

Somehow he knew this was where they were headed. Chewing his lip, Even let his fingers run through Isak's hair again. It wasn't so easy to answer when it had never been about his preferences before. But the point remained that he loved the feeling of Isak on him, because Even could feel the motives behind his fingertips, and taste the adoration on Isak's lips. This was unlike anything else he'd ever experienced. “I don't know if I know,” he answered truthfully. “But I like the thought of trying whatever with you. Even if it turns out to be a  _ no _ , I feel like it won't bother you or me.” 

Isak was nodding emphatically. “It doesn't matter,” he reassured. “And… I like the thought of it, too.” The statement was added with that crooked smile that Even adored so much. 

Cocking his head to one side, Even raised an eyebrow. “You do? God, I love how freaky yet innocent you are. Have I told you that?” 

The exasperation that Isak was trying to muster didn’t last long, his grin cut right through it before he crawled up over Even’s chest, the phone forgotten and sliding on to the mattress. “Only a lot,” he replied, elbows resting on either side of Even’s face, it was his turn to have his hair played with as Isak hovered over him, the tip of his nose only inches from Even’s. “Only this morning when your cock was in my mouth,” Isak added. “And then—”

“OK, I get it,” he sighed. “I say it a lot.” Isak shifted over him, before settling on Even’s stomach, one knee on either side of his hips. Isak had him thoroughly pinned. They hadn’t bothered to dress either and Even was made acutely aware of that fact now. Going by the smirk Isak was wearing, he was well aware too.

“And that I’m bossy—you say that a lot, too.”

Even hummed in agreement. “Yep. It’s hot.”

“ _ And _ that I’m a smart ass,” Isak added, crooking an eyebrow.

“ _ Also _ hot.” Even was grinning up at him, his hands cupping Isak’s face and hoping that he could be persuaded to bring his mouth just a little lower so they could kiss—because it had been too long since the last one; at least ten minutes ago now. “But I can stop saying those things if you want.” 

“Don’t stop,” Isak murmured shaking his head. It could have been taken as egotistical, but Even knew it wasn’t. Isak seemed bemused and flattered by Even’s words, without exception. Mystified by the fact that Even saw him in his entirety and enjoyed every single facet there was to find. But where was the fun in loving someone if you only liked the easy sides to them? Even found everything intriguing about Isak: the prickly and the soft, the hot and the cold. And Isak had so easily accepted everything about Even, that fact still threw him off every single time he realised it. 

“I don’t think there’s any brakes on this thing anyway.”

Isak snorted. “No brakes?” He punctuated the words by rolling his hips against Even. 

Biting his lip, Even tried to repress a groan but it was impossible. “What are you trying to start?” He began with a plea but it quickly changed to consideration. “Do we have time?”

“We do,” Isak replied, his voice catching as he moved over Even again. “I set the alarm for eleven-forty.”

A short bark of laughter broke from Even’s chest. “ _ You set an alarm? _ ” 

“Yep, gives us twenty minutes before they get here.” 

_ They  _ were Eskild and Sana, and probably Magnus if Even had to bet on it. They were coming over for lunch; Sana to go over class notes with Isak, and Even needed to catch up with Eskild over the club and what exactly they were going to do. 

“That’s good thinking,” Even replied. He wouldn’t have thought of setting an alarm.

Isak’s lips pulled up on one side. There was something else. “And… I did that…  _ thing _ ,” he said, stopping and starting nervously on the words.

“Thing?”

Isak hummed, raising an eyebrow. “You know, what you were talking about before we did…  _ stuff _ .”

It dawned on Even what Isak was alluding to. “ _ You prepped _ ? Is that why you were in the bathroom so long?” Isak nodded, trying to renounce the shyness with a chin tilt. But the colour in his face gave him away. “ _ Fuck _ . This is why you’re the brains of the operation.” 

“ _ Even— _ ”

“The Brain to my Pinky.”

“…Christ…”

“You’re the Tony Curtis to my Jack Lemmon…”

“— _ shut up _ —”

“…the Shrek to my Donkey.”  

A scathing look was levelled at him. “ _ Stop it _ . I already know I wouldn't survive without you, so stop downplaying yourself,  _ Mr Director _ .” 

There was nothing Even could do about the smile on his face, it was wide and genuine. Isak was as unused to hearing words of affirmation as he was at saying them, so when they slipped past his lips, Even was helpless to the way his chest seemed to burn with delight. 

“I can direct a home movie, if you want.”

Isak bit his lower lip. “What about?” 

“About a guy that likes to ride his bike around Oslo in the middle of the night.” Isak frowned at him for a moment before catching onto his sarcasm. “What do you think I wanna make a home movie of?” he added. 

Isak shrugged but moved closer to Even’s mouth. “Riding stuff at night, sounds good to me.” A smirk was reflected back to Even before he began to laugh. 

“I thought I was the trouble maker?”

“You must be rubbing off on me,” Isak replied, pushing hard against Even again. 

Impatient with his teasing, Even pulled Isak onto his lips, smothering an indignant squall as his tongue dived straight into Isak’s mouth. It had been far too long since he’d tasted him. Isak snickered before pulling back, Even let him.

“You know I have to make out for at least thirty seconds before I use tongue,” he mumbled against Even’s lips. 

“There’s a threshold?” His hands had worked down Isak’s back now, and had a firm grip of his ass, pulling him against his body again. 

“It’s called chivalry,” Isak retorted in a shaky voice. 

“I thought chivalry was dead?” Eyes beginning to glaze over, Isak just shook his head. “Isak Single-Handedly-Reviving-Chivalry Valtersen?”

He snorted. “I know  _ you _ can be chivalrous.” 

“Completely by mistake,” Even grinned. But he wanted to relent as soon as Isak frowned at him, saying without words how much he hated Even downplaying himself. “Actually, I think my tongue can be pretty chivalrous.” He cocked an eyebrow at the frown that turned into consideration. 

“It's pretty accommodating in my mouth.” 

“And other places,” Even added. 

Isak flushed a deeper red. “I know.” 

He paused, the topic of conversation earlier giving him an idea. “You wanna try something new?” 

The considering look didn't alter but now Isak's eyes darkened—his imagination no doubt taking control. “Like what?” 

“Lie on your front and I'll show you,” he said. Isak hesitated, looking as if to question the direction, before sliding from Even and on to the mattress. 

“Like this?” he asked, head half buried in the pillow. Even rolled on to his side, fingers trailing slowly down Isak's spine before pushing a kiss to his temple. 

“Perfect.” Everything was always perfect with Isak. And they knew now that they only had to mutter  _ stop _ for the other to dutifully listen. It had only happened once: Isak had said it when his cock was in Even’s mouth. Even had leapt off him like he'd shouted  _ fire.  _ It turned out Isak's foot was cramping, so, after a quick massage, Even got back to where he’d left off.

Lips on Isak's neck, Even had already worked a hand down his back before slipping lower to gently palm and grip one firm ass cheek, and then the other. It really was the perfect ass, smooth and peachy, the need to bite it had become overwhelming. And Isak’s breathing was already laboured in anticipation, Even realised, as his kisses traced Isak's shoulder. He'd thought about doing this since that first morning they'd woken together, the notion had only become increasingly arousing the more it played on his mind. 

Even took his time, following Isak's spine and counting every vertebrae he passed, his tongue circling teasing patterns once he got midway. His hand stroked down Isak's thighs, light touches lingering at that ticklish point he'd unearthed at the back of his knees, before returning to the ass massage Even was enjoying maybe a little too much. 

By the time he pushed Isak's legs wide enough to kneel between—his mouth was at the small of Isak's back and his hands full of soft skin—Isak was moaning into the pillow. Those moans turned into whimpers when Even began to travel the curve of his backside, stopping to suck and bite at the tender muscle. There was something so fulfilling at marking Isak, never anything long lasting, but red blemishes on his creamy skin, giving away where Even had been. It made him hard seeing those reminders, that this is where he'd been—on Isak—and Isak had loved feeling him there. 

He knew Isak loved it by the way his body vibrated with anticipation under his palms, and the carefree, helpless noises that the pillow barely muted, the way his hands gripped at the sheets, his knuckles whitening. Despite that, and the way Isak's hips tilted up, with desperation that this wasn't all a tease, Even would ask all the same. 

“You OK, baby?” His voice unsteady, like Isak's body. 

He was answered with a loud groan, Even could taste the impatience. “Yes _ —please— _ ” 

He was cut off as Even’s hands gripped a little firmer, words replaced by a grunt. He could never tease for long because he was addicted to seeing Isak like this, lost in passion and completely at ease with whatever Even wanted to do to him. Even felt full with desire to love Isak in every single way possible. 

_ Isak, who never asked for anything but to be able to love him back.  _

When his mouth found skin again, Isak’s groan was louder, needier. Pushing his face firmly against Isak’s body, his tongue ran over warm, smooth skin. A slow teasing path was drawn up and down Isak’s perineum, his breathing ragged in Even’s ears like the build to a crescendo. And then Even found him, lips pressing against Isak where he was most vulnerable and sensitive. Isak whimpered when he did, a sound that was nearly pained, and drawn out, as Even drew his tongue along him, until he reached the base of Isak’s spine, before retracing his steps.

Even could feel the tremors in Isak’s muscles growing stronger. That was good, he was relaxed, he was enjoying what Even was doing. Knowing that, he centred the long and wide licks, beginning to make circles around that one weak spot that his mind was creating fantasy after fantasy about; Even could imagine himself inside of Isak, his tongue, his fingers, his dick—it didn’t matter. And he would watch as Isak became overwhelmed with him, his hands latching desperately to Even, begging him not to stop… 

Even was moaning just as much as the body beneath his mouth when he pushed the tip of his tongue inside of Isak. As he did, Isak pushed back against him, eager to feel the sensation. Even let him have his way for a brief moment, before pulling back to bite one of his ass cheeks softly, gaining another one of those frustrated sobs. He smirked to himself as he saw how Isak had lifted his hips from the mattress, his knees taking the weight despite his muscles shaking. Looking over his shoulder, Even saw Isak’s toes were curled. He really needed to start filming them together because he needed to see it all—over and over…

“ _ Baby,  _ please, don’t tease me,” Isak stuttered, looking back at Even.

“You just taste so good, I wanna take my time,” he said, smirking to himself.

“Just fucking—” But whatever he was about to tell Even to do was lost as Even bit the same spot again, and—before Isak could react to that past the indignant yelp he let out—Even’s hands gripped firmly at his ass, spreading his body open to make room for himself. He pushed his tongue firmly against Isak, sinking into him harder than before. 

There were no words to describe the effect of those noises, muffled by the pillow in Isak’s mouth, as Even pushed and twisted inside of him. He was as lost and turned on as Isak was, desperate to fulfill him and make him a sweaty, incoherent mess. Even let out a groan of his own when Isak began to push back against him, fucking himself on his tongue. 

The desire for more seemed to overcome Isak, his body crumpling into the mattress, unable to keep himself upright, but he still writhed desperately against the mouth bearing down on him, because Even didn’t let up. This was far too satiating.

“ _ Finger fuck me _ ,” Isak pleaded, forcing the words out quickly. 

“It’s so fucking hot when you talk like that.” Even murmured against his ass. As much as he wanted to stay in control, that was too tempting an offer to ignore.

Sitting up, he crawled over the bed to get the lube from the bedside table, while Isak flopped onto his back. Even couldn’t help but grin down at him while he caught his breath; face flushed and sweaty, hair tangled, and looking limp—except for his dick, laying hard on his stomach, smudges of pre-cum drying on his skin. 

Even brought their bodies as close as was possible. He knelt, with one knee on either side of Isak’s hips, draping Isak’s legs over his thighs, so his ass was nestled in Even’s lap. But as useless as Isak appeared to be right now, his eyes watched Even’s every motion as he uncapped the bottle, squeezing more than enough lube into his palm before rubbing the fluid between his hands to warm it. 

“You sure?” Even grinned as Isak rolled his eyes.

“ _ Yes,” _ Isak said emphatically, which was a feat considering how breathless he still was. “Everything you do feels good,” he added.

“Just say if it doesn’t,” Even impressed. 

Isak opened his mouth, about to contest, but Even’s fingers landed on him, cutting him off. His head dropped back onto the pillow, jaw sagging open, as Even massaged over skin his mouth had just worked. The tips of his fingers moved easily given the amount of lube coating them, rubbing back and forth, following the curve of Isak’s body. Fingers gripped at Even’s knees, as Isak probably expected to be teased some more. So, just to be contrary to the expectations, Even pushed the tip of one finger against Isak. The muscle was taut before Isak let out a heavy breath and arched, his body softening so Even could move into him.

Leaning on one palm, Even looked down at Isak as he eased further in and out of him, hips moved with the slow pace he’d asserted, sometimes they froze as Even edged deeper, but Isak would remember to breathe and relax before the motion resumed. His eyes were open and latched onto Even’s—deep, dark and heavy lidded. Even had to remind himself to inhale too, because being intimate with Isak became increasingly emotional—knowing how much trust was inside of the man beneath him, and how open he was to Even.

The moans started in earnest when Even’s hand was flush against Isak, palm pulsing against his perineum, and his free fingers splayed over Isak’s ass. Fingernails were digging into his knees now as he began to rock against Isak, his own cock hard and rubbing against Isak’s. 

Just as Isak began to move like he was dictating the rhythm, Even angled the finger that was fucking him, beginning to rub and probe causing Isak’s eyes to widen and his thighs to shake again. Even bit his lip knowing that he’d found the particular spot he’d been seeking, and, judging by the way Isak’s hands flew up to grab at Even’s shoulders and neck paired with the stuttered, high and wordless noises falling erratically from his lips, Isak liked his prostate being massaged.

“I think you like ass play, baby,” Even muttered, his voice raspy as if it was him making all the noise.

Isak gasped, his eyes narrowing slightly before Even pushed a little firmer onto this sweet spot. “Shut—” Then his palm firmed against Isak’s body again, pressure from inside and out, disrupting Isak’s words. “ _ Shutup _ .” The word forced out of him between moans. 

Even would grin, but this was too fucking hot for him to be anything other than aroused. He was leaking onto Isak’s stomach, nudging and rocking against his open body, and all Even could imagine was how it would feel if it was his cock filling Isak.

_ Isak, surrounding him, entirely. Fuck. _

“ _ Baby, more _ .” Even had been staring at where their bodies met, watching his hand fuck into Isak like he wanted to, when the words were uttered. He looked back up to Isak’s face, which wore a determined expression despite being completely fucked up. Even opened his mouth to make sure that was what he wanted, but Isak somehow managed to tut. “ _ Now _ ,” he urged.  _ Demanded  _ was a better word, Even decided.

Even did snort at that. But he nodded, pulling gently from Isak before pairing two fingers together and easing, just as carefully as the first time, back inside of Isak. And he took it easily, there was no stop and start of his hips, he urged Even on with the way he moved, and the noises he made, and the way his fingers desperately anchored onto Even. 

“You feel so good,” Isak whimpered. His brow was creased like the sensation was almost too much.

Even bit down on his lip harder now, he was going to cum without touching himself at all if Isak didn’t stop being such a ridiculous fucking turn on with every little thing he did.

“You  _ look  _ so fucking good,” he managed, voice rough and broken. But he wanted to give Isak more, he wanted to send him over the edge, he  _ needed  _ to feel Isak cum around his fingers. He moved them again, tips seeking out that spot he’d found.

“ _ Even,”  _ Isak cried out. It was an anguished plea that made a torrent of emotions tear through Even. Isak was his, and he was Isak's, and he felt it most acutely when his name was said like a passionate curse. “ _ Fuck _ , I’m gonna come,” Isak insisted, fingers now grasping at his own hair, eyes roaming up and down Even’s body towering over him, before they rolled back in his head, holding his breath and waiting for the rush that was threatening to hit. His hands fell to the sheets, fists bunching them again.

“Baby, I want you to. Come for me. Come, baby.”

Even eased back without slowing the hand that was fucking Isak. His free hand was still slick with lube and he gripped Isak’s cock, a grunt was punched from his chest at the motion. Even’s palm didn’t have to move up and down his shaft more than twice before the body beneath his hands seemed to melt, everything relaxed and stilled for a heartbeat before it was suddenly the complete opposite. Isak jerked, his muscles pulling tight around Even’s fingers and his name exploded from Isak’s mouth as he came hard, shooting forcefully up over his own chest and stomach. The orgasm rolled out, seeming to drain every ounce of energy, until Isak was limp.

His eyes flashed open, as he caught his breath, Even’s fingers easing their way from him. His tongue ran over his bottom lip before it was pulled beneath his teeth. It looked like it was hard for him to focus, but Isak continued to stare at him breathing hard. Even was about to tell him to stop being so damn stubborn and rest, but Isak muttered something first.

“Come on me.”

It was Even’s turn to groan, because the words alone were almost enough to finish him off. “Fuck, how are you so fucking sexy?” 

The cunning curve of lips told Even that Isak was proud of whatever effect, that could quite obviously be seen, he had over Even. “Just do it,” he added, his fingers now tugging hair at the nape of Even’s neck. 

Leaning on his palm again, Even hovered over Isak, taking his dick in hand and watching Isak continue to glaze over, still riding the wave of his own orgasm, his body shuddering and shaking beneath Even like the aftershocks that followed an earthquake. But moments of focus came where he looked straight into Even. 

He knew he was slack jawed as he watched Isak, and his hand moved over his cock. Even also knew he wasn’t going to last any longer than Isak had; he was already leaking onto Isak’s stomach, a short, sharp gasp escaping Isak when each drop landed on him, like water on a hot skillet. His eyes focussed once more, fingers tightening in Even’s hair.

“I can’t wait for you to fuck me,” Isak groaned. That small smile played on his lips again, he knew what his words would do. “Feel your cock inside me…” 

And he was right. Even’s arm shook as he found himself forcefully pushed off the ledge he’d been balancing on. “ _ Fuck _ —Isak,” he grunted, pressing his eyes closed, his skin flushed hot before he broke, grunting out a heavy breath as his come spurted onto Isak. 

Even’s arm gave in and he crumpled down, arms wrapped around him in an instant, pulling him into an embrace. He pushed his nose into Isak's neck, feeling the pulse thud against him that reflected his own erratic blood flow. They frequently ended up with a sticky mess spread between them, but neither seemed to care much about it. The shower was only a few feet away. 

Air was dragged into them both, deep and steady, like the tide. Even was drifting—just like Isak had been—somewhere there lived only soft, well meaning fingerprints, words that only vibrated with potential, and eyes that poured love. 

He was here, with Isak, and everything was OK. 

“Baby, you OK?” Isak whispered before pressing a firm kiss to his temple. 

Even opened his eyes to the pale skin that encased everything he loved. His eyes followed the freckles on Isak's neck, there was a pattern to them, they were Even’s constellations now. It's how he knew he wasn't lost. 

Why was Isak asking  _ him  _ that? Surely it should be the other way around.

“I'm fine. You OK?” he managed, voice hoarse. 

Isak hummed a long and satisfied yes. The peace stretched out as their breathing evened; the calm after the storm. Even let his palm glide over Isak's hip and waist, smirking as he felt Isak tense when the vulnerable areas were passed that always made him giggle. It wouldn’t be long after that before he became a quivering heap. 

“I don't think we have time for more, unless you wanna blue ball us both.” 

Even huffed a sigh, his hand coming to rest on Isak's chest. He was right. Why had they made plans so early? Well, at all, actually. “I guess you're right,” he mumbled. 

“I'm  _ always  _ right.” 

Lifting his head, Even knew he'd find the familiar grin playing on Isak's mouth. Moving his hand to Isak's face, Even stroked over his cheek with his thumb, interrupting the smugness with pleasure at the tender contact. 

“Never stop being you.” 

Isak shook his head, evidently feeling that Even was being needlessly corny. But his mouth didn't contradict the sentiment, and his eyes held Even’s solemnly. “As long as you don't stop being you.” And there was the counter—well, less of a counter and more a compromise. 

“Deal,” Even said quickly. He wasn't sure he knew anything other than who he was when he was with Isak. 

“Good.” 

From the outside, and if Even himself witnessed two people like this, he would think it was overbearing and ridiculous. Perhaps even fake. But, now he was here and the sentiments were coming from him, it just felt pure. 

“But you know, we’ve both changed quite a lot since you moved in,” Even mused. This was all far from what they would have seen for themselves months ago, it was actually the antithesis of what they’d thought was good for them. 

Pursing his lips, Isak thought about that statement. “I don’t think so. You’re still the same confident, sweet guy, and I’m still…  _ particular.  _ We just let each other see  _ us _ , what’s beneath. I don’t think it’s a change, we’re more ourselves than we’ve ever been. Or, that’s how I feel.”

“And you’re still always right, so…” Even snorted a laugh as Isak slapped at his arm in playful ire. “But, I agree.” The words made sense, he did feel more the person he was supposed to be. He felt alive, and it was new and exhilarating. He belonged here. Then his brain caught on to some of the words Isak had used. “Confident and sweet? Isak, is that why you were so nervous when you were looking around the apartment? You thought I was sweet?” His words teased.

Instead of becoming defiant, that crooked smile bloomed. “No, I thought: _ holy fuck, he’s hot. _ ”

Even’s jaw dropped. “You didn’t?”

“I’m pretty sure my subconscious knew what was going on when that door first opened,” he added, twinning his arms around Even’s neck. “It just took a while for the rest of me to catch up.” Isak scanned his face thoughtfully. “What about you? What did you think?”

And Even didn’t need to think about the answer. “I just knew you were different from anyone else I’d ever met before, or that I ever would meet— _ unique _ . And I wanted to protect that. That and you were stupidly cute.”

He was studying Isak's face as a thought passed through him, visible by the way his pleased grin softened and a frown appeared. Cocking his head to one side, Even waited for him to put it into words, his finger now skating a lazy line along Isak’s collar bone. 

“When I was with Eva we watched Some Like It Hot. I stayed awake this time.” 

“You did? Did you like it?” It was impossible to keep the pleasure from pouring out in his words. 

Isak nodded, combing Even’s hair back from his forehead before fingertips flowed to his nape. He always felt the need to massage where he’d tug when they were intimate; his hands apologising for their passionate strength. “ _ Well, nobody’s perfect,”  _ he mimicked. The last line of the movie before the duo escaped their predicament—to what end, who knew? But that wasn't the point, life was never finished with a bow and flourish. Everything was a step to something better. “Neither of us are perfect, but we make each other better. That’s all that matters.” Isak continued as if he could read Even’s thoughts.

“That’s true. And I'm glad you liked it.” 

Isak licked his lips before going on. He nodded to the drawers first. “Were you watching movies too?” 

Glancing over his shoulder, Even saw what he meant: the stack of DVDs left out. Turning back, he shook his head. “Nope, I was reorganizing.” 

The frown deepened on Isak's face. “Reorganizing?” 

“You didn't notice?” 

“Notice what?” 

Rolling on to his side, Even grabbed the roll of tissue. They'd run out of flannels yesterday and neither one of them concerned with laundry right now. It could wait until tomorrow. And, as usual, Even saw to Isak before himself. “Didn't you notice the additions? I had to make room on the shelf,” he said, finished with Isak's stomach and now working on his own. 

Tossing the tissue in the bin, he watched Isak as his eyes scanned the rows of DVDs. Then his face switched from focus to amusement, while Even settled back onto his chest. 

“ _ Shrek _ ?” he spluttered.

Even snorted a short laugh. “Not  _ just _ Shrek.” Isak began to laugh with him, full and delighted, as he continued. “Shrek 2, Shrek The Third, and Shrek Forever After— _ plus _ I got the Halloween and Christmas specials, although apparently not all the voice actors are the same on those. I didn't want to leave any out, but,  _ fuck _ , I didn't realise there were so many.” 

“Did you watch any?” Isak asked once his laughter had subsided.

Even shook his head. “I couldn’t do it without you. I figured you weren’t gonna come back, but in case you did… I wanted something that would keep you here.”

It was Isak’s turn to shake his head. “Just you would keep me here,” he said quietly.

And Even was starting to realise that was the truth. “Maybe we could do a marathon next weekend?”

Isak’s smirk said it all. “What kind of marathon?”

“Well, I was thinking Shrek, but now I’m guessing we’ll need intermission breaks,” he grinned right back.

“Sounds perfect.” 

An alarm cut into the conversation and Isak glanced to the bedside table where the small clock sat. “We have twenty minutes before we’re invaded.” 

Pushing up on his palms, Even began to move from the bed, tapping the alarm button on the clock as Isak followed suit. “Twenty minutes is quite a while…” Even murmured looking back over his shoulder as he made his way into the bathroom. He should have let Isak go first for two reasons: Isak was unsteady on his feet when he first got up,  _ and  _ Even could stare at his ass that way.

Trying on a fondly exasperated look, which quickly dissolved into consideration, Isak quickened his pace. “What are you implying?”

“I’m not implying anything, I’m just saying certain things don’t take that long.” Even mused, reaching the shower dial and turning it on. The temperature adjusted quickly, so he stepped under the water, tugging Isak in with him.

“ _ Things _ ?” Isak said coyly, letting himself be surrounded by Even’s arms as he was brought close, their chests pulling flush.

Even hummed, lips lowering to Isak’s. “You know what things.” 

* * *

It hadn’t taken long, Even was right. 

They were in the kitchen, dressed and ready to entertain with three minutes to spare— _ and _ their routine had included the magical things Isak could do with his mouth. Now Even owed him back, no matter how many times he was assured there was no count keeping.

“So, what are you making?”

Isak was standing at his shoulder, watching as he whisked eggs in a bowl. Onions had been sliced and some peppers too, and Even had two different types of cheese out: Isak’s cheddar and his pecorino. “Just omelette, you said the last one looked good. So, I figured you could try it this time. I used most of the milk though.”

Humming, Isak rested his chin on Even’s shoulder and arms were wrapped around his waist. “I'll get some later,” he murmured pressing a kiss to Even’s neck. Who would have thought baby bird liked so much affection? Not that Even was complaining. He was beginning to wonder if he would make it through a full day without feeling Isak’s heartbeat near his own. Hopefully he wouldn’t need to test that hypothesis. “Smells good,” he added. 

Even snorted. “I haven’t started cooking yet.”

He felt Isak shrug. “Well,  _ you  _ smell good then.” 

Shaking his head, Even craned his neck back to press a kiss to Isak’s crown. “I thought I was the smooth talker?”

“You’re rubbing off on me.” 

Even opened his mouth to bring that statement to its natural double entendre ending, but was interrupted by a message coming through on Isak’s phone. Standing back, he pulled it from his pocket to read, his eyebrows pulling together as he did so. Even waited patiently for whatever news to be shared with him. 

“Sana. She’s gonna be late. She’s helping her mum out.”

“At work?”

Isak nodded, pushing the phone back into his pocket and leaning against the counter top. He looked thoughtful, and, as usual, Even gave him his space to work through it. It was a trait that Even guessed Isak was unaware he contained: an abundance of empathy for those close to him. But when he did speak, it was a completely different topic that was broached.

“What are we doing for Christmas?”

Even put the hob on, and placed a saucepan to warm there. “I don’t know, I don’t usually celebrate.” This would be the first time in a long time he had someone to spend the day with; it was the first time he was excited about this particular holiday, he realised, now that it had been mentioned.

Chewing his lip, Isak’s eyes stayed focussed on a spot on the wall. “We used to do a get together, at the old place. We’d get a tree and decorate, dance, eat, and whatever…” he trailed off. It was Even’s turn to frown, trying to pick apart where Isak’s anxiety lay. Even supposed this Christmas would be the first with a lot of changes, both in where he lived and with his family. 

“We can do that here if you want?” he said, flipping a tea towel over his shoulder before adding the onions and peppers to the hot pan. 

Isak’s focus returned to Even. “I didn’t mean that’s what I want, as long as I’m with you, I don’t care.”

“Well, we’ll have time to ourselves, too. It’ll be nice to throw a party here—I’ve never done that before. We can do both.”

“Both?” Isak asked, grinning. “You don’t mind having everyone over here?”

“Why would I? It’s pretty much family, right? I like your friends.” And he did. He’d never really had a group of friends like Isak did, and he liked them being a part of their lives. “Especially when they’re so nice about me in group messages,” he added, shooting a grin at Isak. He’d had a chance to catch up on the group he was added to, much to Isak’s horror. He hadn't even minded the picture exchange of bras that had happened yesterday, lending some advice here and there. 

“You promised you wouldn't look.” Isak sighed. He’d been ignoring the chat, Even assumed he’d muted it when Vilde had started to discuss the sex toys she’d bought for Magnus. 

“I didn’t promise anything—you  _ told  _ me not to. Curiosity killed the cat.” 

“Well,” Isak said, aiming a disapproving look at him. “Just make sure it doesn't kill your libido with all those gross conversations. Otherwise I’ll be out for vengeance.”

Tutting, Even shook his head. “We can’t have that.” He gave Isak a once over and arched an eyebrow at him, colour instantly flooded his cheeks. “But I don’t think we have to worry about my libido going anywhere.”

Isak inched closer to him as Even added the eggs. “Good,” he said simply, his mind was somewhere else, somewhere Even could imagine—possibly back in bed—before a thought occurred to him. “Are you sure about the party. The mess and everything?”

“That’s why we have a cleaner,” Even replied. He reached for the cheese before slowing in his movements, a look of guilt settled on Isak’s face and he hesitated on a reply he was forming. “What did you do?” he asked, partly concerned and the rest amused. 

“I may have cancelled the cleaner.” He looked up sheepishly at Even, and there was no way that Even could hold any form of annoyance whatsoever. 

Snorting a laugh, he forgot about the cheese for a moment. “ _ You did what _ ?”

“She kept setting up the cushions wrong… and I figured it wouldn't be hard to do what she did. And you haven't noticed. So.” He ended the sentence with that chin tilt that said he absolutely, unabashedly stood by his actions.  _ Mostly _ . 

It was true though, Even hadn’t noticed. “You’re so sneaky. I knew you would do this, I had a feeling the first time you were here, scoffing at my cleaner.” He tried to sound aghast but it was hard while he was grinning at Isak, his cheeks deepened by a shade. 

“It’ll save money,” Isak offered, somehow managing to flutter his eyelashes demurely. Even wasn’t sure how Isak was pulling demurely, he also wasn't sure he could fucking cope with a demure Isak—on top of everything else he was. The thought alone gave him a semi. However, he couldn’t let himself be distracted from the point by his own traitorous dick.

“It doesn’t matter how insanely hot you are, Valtersen, you are still in charge of operation clean up.” But he could already see himself helping out. Well, whatever got them to bed quicker was the right option, right? Isak didn’t need to know how easily Even would be swayed. 

“Of course,” he said, looking pleased with himself. Who was Even kidding? Isak was probably well aware how quickly Even would help.

He was still shaking his head as he returned to the omelette, adding cheese before the pan was shoved under the grill. When he turned back to Isak, another pensive expression was on his face. There was something else, sometimes he needed a little prodding. 

“Baby, what’s up?”

Isak hummed in confusion as he snapped back to the room. Then he shrugged. “I don’t know—nothing, I guess.”

Moving towards him, Even wrapped his arms around Isak, nudging his nose against Isak’s. “It doesn't look like nothing.”

Sighing, Isak let his fingers toy with the loops in Even’s jeans, before they wound around his waist. “It’ll be the first Christmas that I don’t see my family,” he admitted quietly.

Even smiled at him. “Do you want to see them?”

The automatic headshake given in response slowed to unsurity. “I don’t know.”

Pushing a kiss to the tip of his nose, Even let his hands rub reassuring patterns up Isak’s back. “When you know, I’m by your side either way. OK?”

A tremulous smile replaced the unsurity. “OK.” Even’s lips landed on his, lightly and quickly to seal the agreement. When he drew back, Isak’s eyes had fluttered closed, softening in an instance. “Thank you,” he murmured. 

“You don’t have to thank me, I’m here to be what you need. When you’re happy, I’m happy.”

Hazel-green eyes were opened onto him again, there was a sudden sadness in them now. He hesitated before asking the question Even saw playing on his mind. “Do you have any family or friends you see at Christmas?” It was asked quietly, tentative, as if he was tip toeing across egg shells. 

Even swallowed, suddenly backed into a corner. His instincts told him that Isak knew something, was hinting at something he didn’t feel the right to ask plainly. 

_ What had he figured out?  _

But Even had been defensive for too long in this area, and the sudden move to this topic didn’t give him a chance to consider answering in any other way than to keep in line with the lie he’d already told. 

Moving away, he ignored the regret he could see in Isak’s eyes. “No. No family. Acquaintances always had other plans. But now I have your friends,” he said as he checked the omelette, shooting back at Isak what he hoped was a reassuring smile. 

But Isak was studying him, obviously divided by the need to press on this topic and let it drop. It seemed as if he’d made the decision to proceed, his mouth working to try and find whatever the right words were. Even stood, knowing that if he pressed on, there was no way he would keep up the pretence. There was no need to lie, he was just so scared of how the truth would effect Isak, and in turn, impact how he saw Even. 

The buzzer sounded and Even felt disappointment fill him. Suddenly he was aware of the relief that would come at telling someone everything—no, not someone,  _ Isak _ . Even wanted him to know. There was a moment of quiet before the buzzer rang again.

“Eskild,” Isak snorted, shrugging off the intense atmosphere that had descended. Even watched as he made his way to the entry phone and answered. “Come up,” he said simply before pressing the door release button. Turning back to Even, he wore a smile that was intended to put Even at ease. “I’ll help with the plates,” he continued. “I’m sure Eskild will eat. He eats  _ anything _ .”

Even tried to relax again but it was difficult knowing that there was something between them, and that Isak was aware of it too—more aware than Even had assumed. It wasn’t natural for them to be like that. “OK,” he replied, voice surprisingly upbeat, despite what he was feeling. “I guess just like he drinks anything.”

Isak hummed as he grabbed the plates from the cupboard. “Probably some saying from his aunt about waste not want not.” 

Even grunted a short laugh. “Probably.” 

He  _ would  _ tell Isak, after their visitors had gone—when it was just the two of them. He owed Isak the truth.

###  Isak

He’d just finished placing the plates and glasses out on the tabletop before knuckles rapped at the door. 

Isak couldn’t help the furtive glances that he kept shooting in Even’s direction, seeming to carrying on like normal, like Isak hadn’t just witnessed a chasm open before quickly slamming shut. 

_ Was he ever going to tell Isak what was going on?  _

Even was entitled to keep whatever pains he held to himself, but Isak was sure he could help. He  _ wanted _ to help because, just like Even had said, if he was happy, Isak was happy. The same was true of the contrary. And this was a bone deep hurt that Isak could practically taste. What more could there be, on top of the unhappy childhood he knew about? 

_ What monsters were in Even’s dreams? _

Firmly, Isak pushed his spiralling concerns down; he needed to stay calm and above the pain, for Even’s sake. He moderated his breathing in time to his steps as he made his way to the door. Opening it, he was greeted by a very wide and satisfied grin. 

“ _ Isak _ . Look at you all dressed and decent,” he exclaimed.

huffing a laugh, Isak stood back to let his friend in. “Good morning, Eskild.” 

Swanning in, he filled his lungs before his gaze found Even in the kitchen. “Oh, you cooked?  _ For me?” _ He gasped dramatically before he went on. “You shouldn't have, but now I'm here and it's made… it would be a shame to waste good food.” 

Even wore an amused expression as he took in their new arrival. “Of course we cooked especially for you,” he preened, playing along. “What kind of hosts do you think we are?” Pulling the tea towel from his shoulder, he wrapped it around the pan handle before carrying it to the table. 

“I don’t know. Ones that are too busy making out to answer the door?” he replied. 

Feigned confusion bloomed on Even’s face. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. Isak? Do you know what he’s talking about?”

Smirking, Isak shook his head. “Of course not. We’re the  _ perfect  _ hosts.”

Eskild snorted. “I talk to Sana every single day. And she always shares the tea with me. But anyway, this is an improvement,” he stated, taking a seat at the table and pouring himself a glass of orange juice. He looked up to Isak and then Even. “Juice?” he asked as they sat opposite him, the pan placed on a chopping block in the middle. 

“As long as it’s  _ without _ vodka,” Isak replied, 

Even grinned and nodded. “Same.”

Eskild shook his head. “Vodka? At midday on a day I’m  _ not  _ working? I'm not a heathen.” 

Picking up a knife, Isak began to cut the omelette into quarters. There was more than enough to go around. “Heathen enough to leave your housemate behind. Where’s Magnus?” he asked, serving Even first. 

“He’s on his way. He’s  _ delayed _ .” 

“Anything important?” Even asked.

Eskild shrugged. “Depends who you ask. He didn’t take the meat out of the freezer to defrost last night for Vilde. So, he’s run to the store for more.” He punctuated the sentence making the sound of a whip cracking. “I’d stick up for him but he likes it entirely too much. Kinky fuck.”

The food was served and Isak glanced up at Even to find him observing his plate, suddenly deep in thought. This was going to be hard to address, it was the first time they’d all been together to discuss the events that brought Eskild to this room last week. Isak wasn’t sure how much Eskild or Even knew of each other's actions. He knew  _ he _ didn’t know the full story, far from it, in fact. 

“Eskild, this is gonna be a working lunch cos I can’t do the whole pretend the elephant isn't in the room thing,” he began, pushing the food on his plate around with the prongs of his fork before looking up to Eskild. Isak couldn’t help but reach out to squeeze Even’s knee in support.  

Pursing his lips, Eskild switched to his serious personna, the one that Isak knew could solve most problems. The side that proved his compassion and empathy. “Shoot,” he said simply, before forking some food into his mouth. Isak followed suit, more an observer or support than he could be useful. 

“The man that beat me up is the client that we’re renting the club from.” He eyed Isak nervously after the statement was out, looking regretful that he hadn’t passed this information by him first. 

Isak simply shook his head, the revelation made his stomach clench tightly with apprehension when he recalled the conversation that he’d had with Eskild about this guy. He didn’t feel any irritation at this only being breached now, they’d both been ignoring the whole entire world, and its problems, in favour of each other. Isak didn’t regret that at all. 

The only thing he was having problems with was the anger that surged anew in him; he wanted to hurt this asshole. And that emotion was followed quickly by hopelessness as he remembered exactly how dangerous the guy appeared to be. Who was he to address someone like that? How could  _ he  _ get the upper hand? Isak now felt as helpless as Eskild had been that night he’d sought advice from Isak about this whole situation. 

_ What could they do? _

His hand hadn’t moved from Even’s knee and he squeezed again, any delight he’d felt in the food he was eating—which  _ was _ delicious—turned to ash. But he would be here for Even first, before anything else.

“I know this fucks things up and I know it drags you into this shit, I’m sorry. It was never my intention.” Even looked as defeated as Isak felt, but guilt lay thickly on him too. He felt responsible for all of this. 

But Eskild was frowning at him. “What are you talking about? I knew as much as you did.  _ I _ made the decision. In fact, I knew this was fucked before that night—when  _ that _ happened.” He gestured at the fading bruise on Even’s temple. The cut was healed now. 

It was Even’s turn to look baffled. “What do you mean?”

“That fucker wanted clauses, that  _ weren’t _ in writing, making it obvious he was fucking with us. That was after we’d signed.” 

Isak could see the thoughts whirring in Even’s mind. They’d probably had suspicions beforehand, but to know the client was crooked was another thing entirely, and trying to involve the club. “What were they? The clauses?”

Eskild sat back, his appetite not perturbed by the topic as he took another bite. “He wanted to be able to use the club for  _ meetings.” _

Even nodded, unsurprised by this information so it seemed. “You didn’t tell me.”

It was Eskild’s turn to look uncomfortable. “It was my job to make sure everything was OK. I had a gut feeling but nothing concrete, I went ahead. _ I _ made the decision and  _ I  _ felt responsible.” He sighed, shoulders dropping. It looked like there was enough guilt at this table to last any regular person a lifetime. “I didn’t know what to do… and I was going to tell you and Magnus both, but then,” he made an exasperated gesture with his fork. “Shit hit the fan.” 

Nodding, Even began to eat, mulling the issue over. He understood and obviously held no grudge. “It was no one's fault, Eskild. No one saw this coming,” he stated, finished with his first mouthful. 

Isak hesitated, watching the exchange and wanting to know what happened  _ now _ , because it was important. The goal posts had moved since he’d last spoken to Eskild. “So… what do we do?”

They both looked at Isak, Even visibly worrying the same point, but Eskild simply looked amused. 

“I don’t know what options we have,” Even began. “I’m not gonna leave you two to deal with this problem alone. I’ll—” he stopped looking flustered. “ _ We’ll _ figure out a way to get him fucked over. Whatever you and Magnus lose I’ll pay back…” But he trailed off as he looked to Eskild, who was simply shaking his head.

“No need.”

Both Isak and Even frowned. What did that mean? They couldn't ignore this. “The problem won’t go away—” Isak said, stalling when Eskild held up a hand, before he began to search his coat pocket to pull out a newspaper. 

“The problem already went away,” he stated. 

“What do you mean?” Even asked slowly, watching as the newspaper was opened and spread to a specific page. Then it was dropped on the table in front of Even, a finger pointing out one thin column near the crease of the page. Isak leaned towards Even, beginning to scan the print quickly as Eskild continued, but the title said it all: Romanian Crime Lord Detained.

“Turns out, according to Sana’s brother, this guy had already drawn a lot of attention to himself. Who knew a few bits of information was all it took?” It was stated in a matter of fact manner that belied the gravity of his actions. 

Isak tried to digest what he was reading. “ _ He’s been arrested?” _

“It  _ looks _ like he was getting sloppy; there’s enough evidence all around to convict him for a long time—that's what they're saying, anyway.” Eskild folded his arms, looking quietly satisfied and prepared for whatever reactions would evolve. 

There wasn't much more he needed to read from the article, and instead Isak watched Even scan the words again and again in disbelief.

“So, you guys are free to find somewhere else?” Isak asked. 

Eskild opened his mouth to reply but Even cut in. “You could have put yourself in danger going forward. If there wasn't a case, and it was just your word…” Even was staring at Eskild, expression unreadable and his tone sombre. 

Eskild just shrugged. “But that didn't happen.” 

“It could have,” Even persisted. “ _ Why _ ?” 

“Because that's what family does,” he said simply. 

Isak could feel the weight of emotion settling on Even, having people around him willing to go far beyond friendship to do the right thing. He cradled his head in his hands, clearing his throat before he spoke. “Thank you, I don't deserve—” 

“And you'll quit with that right now. I don't give people what they don't deserve, so.” Eskild sniffed with an air of finality; it was done, there was no need for gratitude because they were all in this together. “Just try not to get yourself into anymore trouble,” he added. 

Once he'd stopped fretting about Even’s reaction, Isak admitted to himself that he was quite equally stunned. Absorbing the fact the same man who had hurt Even was the very one who was trying to screw them over with the club, and  _ then _ that the situation had been resolved. He smothered the needless irritation that unfurled within him because he'd had no hand in the  _ vengeance— _ if that was the right word for this. But, despite the turn of events, he wouldn't expect anything less from Eskild. He really was one of the best people Isak knew. 

Something in Even’s stance solidified, fortified by something, and he sat back in his seat. Despite the tears that Isak knew were beneath his surface, and the emotion he cleared from his throat again, Isak could feel relief steadily filling Even. 

“I don't intend to,” he assured, the shadow of a smile played on his lips before he glanced at Isak. “That's done with now.” 

Satisfied was not the word to describe Eskild’s expression as he looked from Even to Isak, utterly pleased with the outcome he could see on the other side of the table, like he'd personally crafted the scenario himself. Perhaps he had, even if it had been unknowingly done. Strangely, Isak felt no desire to argue against that, Eskild could have this victory because Isak had everything he needed. There was only one thing remaining that unsettled him now. 

“We were thinking of throwing a Christmas party, it could be a celebration, too. Of… things working themselves out?” Isak offered. 

The grin was back on Eskild’s face. “ _ Here _ ?” he asked in surprise. 

Even nodded. “Why not? As long as we have Captain Clean Up here,” he said gesturing at Isak. “I'm fine with it.” 

“ _ Captain Clean Up? _ ” 

Despite narrowing his eyes at Even, Isak responded to Eskild. “Yeah, I said I would make sure the place was clean afterwards.” 

“Isn't that why you have a cleaner?” 

“We  _ had  _ a cleaner.  _ Apparently  _ they were let go of. Right, Isak? It's the price you pay when you can't arrange cushions properly.” The words began to flow at the end of the sentence into a soft chortle. But there was a hand on Isak's knee, squeezing him right back to compensate for the tease. And it worked, Isak realised, his gaze softening as he was absorbed by eyes bluer than summer skies. 

“ _ Isak _ ,” Eskild tsked. “You had to fuck something up, didn't you? Not quite content with perfection.” 

Isak was shaking his head. “ _ What _ ? Even hasn't noticed that it's been me cleaning,” he shrugged. “It's a waste of money.” He made the claim again while shooting Even his best wide eyed and pleading expression. He shouldn't have done it without saying, but it  _ did _ made sense. 

But Even’s gaze danced from Isak’s eyes to his mouth. He let himself smile knowing that Even couldn't be mad at him, exactly like Isak couldn't hold anything against Even. 

“I'm just teasing, baby.” He inched closer, and Isak couldn't help the way his lungs froze when he closed the distance between them. This elegant, gorgeous, and kind human who happened to love him…  _ and _ was two fingers deep inside of Isak up until about thirty minutes ago. He shivered as the thoughts of tangled sheets and sweat intruded into his brain, images of Even all over him and inside of him. Isak could still  _ feel _ where he'd been. 

He noticed the smile Even wore, like his own, knowing they were both thought sharing right now. Isak licked his lips, trying to mind that they had an audience. “I know.”

Eskild cleared his throat. “Before you both decide to put on a show—which I’m not adverse to, by the way—we need to discuss what we do next, with the club.”

Pulling himself back to focus on the problems at hand, Isak sighed at the missed kiss he could almost feel. “Yeah, you guys should figure that out,” he muttered, relaxing back in his seat. He wasn’t sure what more they would do except find somewhere else. And he wasn't sure what part he played in this, it was never something he was involved in up until now.

“Shouldn’t we wait for Magnus?” Even asked. His focus was back on Eskild and the matter at hand, and there was something hot about this businesslike version of his boyfriend. 

_ His fucking boyfriend.  _

“You have a point,” Eskild conceded. “So, let’s talk parties. I’ll bring the alcohol.”

Isak was about to put in some strictures about exactly how much would be brought into the flat, because there was no way he would be cleaning up neon, rainbow, or plain fucking puke. But he was interrupted by the buzzer. They really should just go ahead and take the goddamn thing out. 

“That'll be Magnus,” Isak sighed, sliding from his seat automatically. 

“You have him well trained,” Eskild said to Even, but loud enough for Isak to catch. 

Levelling a scowl over his shoulder, he found Eskild grinning in his direction. “It's called compromise. It's what you do when you're in a  _ relationship _ —but what would you know about that?” Isak gloated. 

But the grin didn't slip, if anything Eskild looked more amused. “Firstly, am I getting goaded by a formally anti-relationship ace  _ about _ relationships? And, more importantly, you're admitting you're  _ in _ a relationship? My godchild,” he exclaimed with pride, wiping an imaginary tear from his eye.

Isak rolled his eyes. “After a lot of  _ thorough  _ testing, turns out I'm actually  _ Evensexual _ .” 

Whatever Eskild was intending to counter, as Even laughed, was muted because the buzzer rang again. Isak picked up the entry phone. 

“Magnus?” He was answered quickly by his friend. Door released, Isak hung up. Opening the apartment door, he turned to rejoin the table when the buzzer sounded a third time. Isak frowned as he picked the receiver up again. “What?” 

“ _ It's jammed or something. I can't get it open.”  _

Isak grunted. “That's what she said.” 

There was a pause before Magnus replied.  _ “Did you just… make a dirty joke, Isak?” _

“And what?” 

“Nothing. Nothing.” But he could hear the surprised laughter Magnus was masking. It didn't irritate Isak though. 

“OK. I'm coming,” he said with a sigh. He needed to get the mail besides. Neither he nor Even had ventured down in days. 

The handset was replaced, and he called over his shoulder to the table where conversation had been resumed. Eskild was talking Christmas decorations, something about  _ condom baubles _ —Even’s bemused expression matched exactly how Isak felt about that. “I just need to go let him in—the door’s stuck.” 

“Probably just needs a bit of  _ lubricant _ ,” Eskild stated, an absurd amount of emphasis on the last word. 

“Magnus should know all about that by now,” Isak hit back. If he couldn't erase the knowledge from his mind about his friends sex life, he would use it as fodder for banter. 

Eskild raised an eyebrow. “And so should you.” 

Normally the jibe would have rankled Isak—well, before the last few weeks it would have. But not anymore. “Actually, yes,” he admitted while slipping on his trainers—the stairs were cold. Eskild was mid sip of his juice but the eyes that were watching Isak over the rim looked surprised at the admission. He grinned at the reaction before he went on. “We have a massive value tub in the bedroom because we go through so fucking much of the stuff.” It wasn't too much of an exaggeration to be fair.

Laughter belted loudly from Even’s chest and Eskild choked on his juice before Isak left them in that state, slipping into the hall and making his way downstairs.

Isak was grinning to himself, pleased with having found a way to best Eskild. Apparently if you couldn't beat them, joining them  _ did _ work wonders. But with each step down he took, his mirth faded, absorbed by that one element that unsettled him. There was no hiding from it, not when it was becoming more apparent—the fissure widening. 

His expression must have evolved to a full blown frown by the time he'd reached the main door to the building because, when he opened it, Magnus studied him with concern before even saying a word. 

“Hey,” Isak greeted, trying to sound enthused and relax his face. 

“You OK?” 

Isak hummed a  _ yes  _ before standing back and giving Magnus room to pass him. “You? I heard about the meat,” Isak said before tutting. He shut the door after his friend, who began to rub over his arms to warm up after waiting out in the dreary weather. 

Shaking his head, Magnus brought his focus back to Isak, wearing a look that said he was both long suffering but that he wouldn't change a damn thing. “It's sorted now. I had to; she's cooking for the girls today. If I hadn't it would be  _ my _ meat being tenderized right now—”

“OK, OK,” Isak butted in, holding a palm up to Magnus to stall the flow of information that he was sure didn't need to know. “I get it. I don't need anymore visuals for the rest of my life, save it for Eskild.” 

Moving to the mailbox, Isak pressed in the code and removed the stack of letters and flyers. 

“I could have meant she would have beat me.” 

Isak looked up at Magnus, eyeing him sceptically. “Either way, I'm sure it would involve one of those rubber suits Mahdi keeps going on about.” 

“Latex,” Magnus corrected.

“Right,” Isak replied, flipping past this month's edition of New Scientist and a pizza menu. “I don't care what material it is, whatever you guys get up to ends up kinky. Like that one time with the water you spilt on the bench.  _ You _ were licking it up, next minute both of you go missing for ten minutes. Middle of the day, in a park, for God's sake,” Isak huffed. He had a letter from uni—probably next term’s fees. 

“You noticed that?” 

Isak had to look up again just to verify that Magnus looked as pleased as his tone suggested. Then he had to check himself as to why he would be surprised at that.  _ “Everyone  _ noticed _ ,”  _ he snorted. Magnus's grin only spread wider. “Anyway,” Isak interceded before Magnus had a chance to make any elaborations or furnish Isak's memory further. “I'm glad you're here. Important talk for the club.” Isak nodded upstairs. 

Magnus's grin did slip then. “Eskild told me what happened. I'm glad Even’s feeling better, and you can barely see the bruise.” 

Isak frowned. “When did you see him?” 

“Messenger. They were all sharing selfies last night, Vilde was showing me in bed.” 

“ _ They were _ ?” Isak was beginning to regret muting the group now. He felt like he should be monitoring the amount that was being shared. 

Nodding, Magnus was done warming himself. “You were asleep.” 

Isak narrowed his eyes. “How the fuck do you know I was asleep?” 

He shrugged nonchalantly. “You were in one of the selfies, with a puppy filter. You look cute as a puppy. I’ll have to get you one of those onesies—” 

“ _ What _ ?” Isak exclaimed. That wasn't fair. It was one thing Even sharing photos of himself, but of Isak? While he was asleep? 

_ Cute _ ?

“Relax. I don't think he meant to actually get you in the shot, but you looked like you were trying to crawl into his body via his neck.” 

Isak opened his mouth to argue back, but decided against it. Was it really all that bad? To be vulnerable when he knew Even had him? No. This was no big deal. He would, however, get Even back— _ somehow _ . “Well,” Isak mused, his focus back on the letters he was shuffling through. “Even is  _ really _ warm. And we  _ are  _ cute together.” He let himself grin at the admission. They were. Perhaps sickeningly cute, but definitely cute all the same. 

“Not as cute as me and Vilde.”

The snorted laugh in response was an instant reaction. “You wish,” he muttered before frowning down at what was in his hands.

Magnus began to defend himself, and Vilde’s honour, but Isak wasn’t listening to a word he was saying. The letter was for Even, it had a blue cross on the corner; the Hospice. 

“...  _ and _ she calls me Goldilocks… sometimes Magnus O’Malley. You know?—The Aristocrats? I bet you don’t even have nicknames yet. We would win, hands down, in a cute—off.” He trailed off before nudging against Isak’s shoulder with his hand. “Isak? You OK?”

“Baby Bird,” he murmured absentmindedly. 

“What?”

“My nickname,” he stated, his focus returning. “Can I borrow your coat?”

Magnus blinked at the sudden change of circumstance. “Sure,” he said slowly, beginning to pull at the zipper. “But what for?”

Isak licked his lips nervously about the decision he’d just made in his mind. Then he shook his head as he took the coat. “We’re low on milk. I’m gonna go get some,” he lied, before stuffing the mail back in the box and shutting the small, metal door. He had his keys in his jean pocket, that was all he needed. 

His friend didn’t look wholly convinced but nodded anyway. “OK, I’ll see you in a bit?” he asked.

“Sure, I shouldn’t be long.” 

His mind was already other places when he pushed the door open, tugging Magnus’s coat on and pulling it tight across his chest. It  _ was _ cold, the biting kind that made your bones numb. Perhaps that was a good thing because it made the thoughts that were whizzing through him, dragging doubt to the surface already, less erratic; they seemed to freeze too. He felt more sure and focussed as he took each step and the building door banged close at his back.

Isak didn’t need to be protected from the truth, he could handle it. There was nothing that Even could throw at him that Isak wouldn’t accept, and he would prove it.

* * *

  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *intense outtro intensifies*


	11. Chapter Ten

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “The thing is, I survived; she didn't,” he added gently. 
> 
> Isak met his eyes and Even found vast fields of sorrow within his gaze. “How could she do it?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry for the delay in posting, this chapter was the hardest for me to write and feel OK to give to you. Again, I'm gonna gesture at the tags-- that's pretty important. As you've guessed (probably) we find out more about Even's past. I have put three centred asterisk to denote the beginning and end of the more acutely implied child abuse. So, if you wish to scroll passed, you can. More detailed TW's are in the end notes if you really want to know before reading this section. 
> 
> Aside from the heaviness (it's not all sorrow-I promise), I hope you enjoy. 
> 
> Love, Becs

##  Chapter Ten

###  Isak

His feet were glued to the spot at reception. Well, he wasn't even technically  _ in  _ the reception; Isak stood just inside the entrance of this overly familiar building. Every few moments he would remember to breathe and shift from left to right foot. And then back again. 

_ What was he fucking doing here?  _

It was no big deal really. He'd been here countless times: popping in to drop things off for Sana's mum, or sprawled across the worn and comfy sofas that sat in the staff room—revising for this exam or that, or trying to smuggle Sana away from work that she didn't get paid for. His feet being on this particular patch of ground was not unusual. 

But at the same time it was utterly different. Isak could feel dark and intimidating clouds building at his back, he  _ knew _ something was going on here that held stupendous gravity in Even’s life, but he couldn't look over his shoulder to scope out the ferocity of this storm. He just knew it was there, and that, just like a storm, it would break sooner or later. 

Isak knew it was there and couldn't ignore it anymore. 

No one was at the reception desk—this again was not out of the norm. If Sana was still here, something must be going on that required all available hands. 

_ What did he do? _

Taking a step forward, Isak tried to focus on nothing more than placing one foot in front of the other. He reached the desk, wiping his clammy palms off on his jeans—nerves were getting to him, driving a layer of sweat between him and his clothes that couldn't be excused by the weather. Eyes darting around, Isak found no one in sight. So, swallowing down his apprehension, he leant further over the high screen that surrounded the receptionist—or  _ would  _ when they were seated there. There lay several clipboards spread out on the wooden surface—between one single computer monitor and a cordless phone. Attached to the board were varying spreadsheets containing rotas on them: specifying rounds, treatment, and meal schedules. What he needed was there, but, as he reached over the desk, Isak hesitated. 

_ Should he really be fucking doing this? _

“ _ Isak _ ?”

His name echoed down the hall, as startling as a whipcrack. Gasping, Isak swiftly recalled his hand before spinning around to find Sana striding down the hall, a frown aimed in his direction. He tried to look relaxed, as he should here, but it was hard when his heart was currently hammering its way free of his rib cage at her sudden apparition. 

“Jesus Christ, you scared me,” Isak huffed. One hand splayed over his chest, as if it would help calm his nerves. Why was he so nervous? He folded his arms before changing his mind and dropping his hands to his side. They felt too exposed there, so he shoved them in his pockets instead. 

_ Completely fucking calm, Isak. _

“Are you… OK?” she asked, the frown turned into concern as she neared him, her pace slowing. 

Isak was nodding. “I'm fine,” he said with a shrug. “Eskild and Magnus are at home, so I figured I'd come drag you away.” He tried on his best grin and it must have had some of the desired effect because she snorted a laugh at him. 

“Boring business stuff?”

Isak hummed a yes. “Discussing what to do next and  _ whatever… _ ” he trailed off, feeling guilty again that he was here, snooping around, while the important stuff was happening at the apartment. He did choose his goddamn moments t o be impulsive…  

“Well you might have to get used to boring business stuff now,” she mused, not entirely focussed on any one thing as she glanced at the large wall clock behind reception. Did the second hand always tick that loudly? “I'll be done in twenty…   _ probably _ .” Moving around to the back of the desk, Sana opened a closet where spare towels and linens were stocked for convenience; the laundry room was a five minute walk on the other side of the building. “You wanna wait in the staff room?” she asked, shoving several towels under one arm and grabbing a sheet in her other hand. The door was kicked shut with her heel before turning back to him. 

Isak was shaking his head. “I'll be fine out here,” he muttered. 

Tilting her head to one side, she studied him again. “Are you sure you're OK? You look… worried. Or sick? Your face is too pale. I can get mum—” 

She came to a halt when he waved her concern away. “Just concerned about you and your mum overdoing it. What happened anyway? Seems like something big; it’s deserted.” He gestured at the deathly quiet space around them.

A sad expression settled on her at the prompt. “Mr and Mrs Berg,” she replied simply.

Isak blinked. “ _ Mr and Mrs B? _ ” he asked and Sana nodded. He knew them, an elderly couple that had spent most of their lives together. They were inseparable; she had her wheelchair and he pushed her around the grounds when the weather was nice; they would pick bouquets, decorating the room they shared with wonderful scents and colours; Saturdays were their date nights where they ate together by candlelight in the privacy of their apartment—without fail. Isak had even seen him styling her hair, lacing daisies into the small plaits. And—unbeknownst to Mr B—sometimes Mrs B would persuade Isak to place a bet for her on this event or that—she was fond of horse racing. It was about the only thing they didn’t do together. “What's up?” 

“She died last night—in her sleep,” Sana said in a hushed and reverent voice. One hand scrubbed hastily at her eyes as she shook her head, and Isak knew she was trying to control her emotions. There was time for tears later, in the safety of home, but while she was here there was a role to fulfill. “He's inconsolable. We have to move him to a new room. I don’t see how he’ll ever cope without—” She pulled up short, swallowing down her tears and taking a deep breath. Isak watched as she mentally put on her armour; exhaling heavily, her gaze was firm once more.

And, honestly, Isak felt that same sorrow building in his throat. Or, more accurately, it was pouring into the pool of varied and tangled emotions that he was already chin deep in. “That's awful. I'm sorry,” he said. Licking his lips, Isak quickly convinced himself to lend her some support; this seemed the more important task. But before he managed to get the words out, someone's shrill voice rang out in the hall. 

“ _ Sana? Where are the towels?” _ The voice belonged to Sana’s mum, she sounded  both anxious and irritated. 

“I'll be back; just wait,” she ordered. Not even waiting for his response, Sana turned and bustled hastily down the hall before disappearing around a corner. His mouth was still half open, his reply on his tongue. Releasing a heavy breath, Isak let  the words go forgotten. He rocked on his heels, hands still bunched in his pockets, and chewed his lip in deep thought. 

_ He was here now.  _

Considering what he now knew about Even’s ordeals—and Isak was sure his knowledge was just the tip of the iceberg—combined with the hints at what was left lurking in dark waters, Isak would prefer that they both went through whatever the worst was together. He would have to take the plunge because Even seemed to have convinced people all his life that he could breathe underwater, and wasn’t in fact drowning. 

Mr B was down the hall, a hundred meters or so from where Isak stood, experiencing the worst pain in his existence right now, and the  _ one  _ person who had understood him best was gone. He needed to do this, for Even. Even  _ needed  _ to know that Isak was solid ground for him; he didn’t need to tread dark waters anymore.

Leaning over the desk, his finger glanced over the timetables clipped to the array of different coloured plastic clipboards, trying to find the one he needed. It was the third he checked that gave him the required information—it was bright red and it secured the nurses’ room schedule. It hadn't changed since that last one, the one handed to him in the back of Sana’s car with a recipe scribbled on the blank side. 

Isak read the same line, over and over: 

**Room 2: H. Bech Næsheim**

The clear, bold signs—that were literally plastered to every wall available—said that  _ room two  _ was down the corridor to his left, rooms one through ten were all that way. But Isak already knew that, he was pretty sure—by this point—he could draw a floor plan with his eyes closed. And  _ that  _ corridor was opposite the hall Sana had disappeared down. 

Drumming his fingers on the surface of the desk, Isak stayed frozen while seconds ticked away, knowing once he’d started moving, there would be no stopping. One small and threadbare tether of his conscience held him there, but a stronger tide was pulling him out to the depths. It was the sound of a door banging shut, somewhere at his back, that snapped the tether and lurched Isak into motion. He didn’t want someone to stop him, not now that he’d come to this point.

_ He had to know.  _

Isak realised his motives weren't all pure; there was the fear of another secret lurking in Even’s shadow, waiting to trip them up. This time he wanted to meet it on his feet. 

The corridor curved, small meeting rooms were on one side and a large lounge and entertainment suite on the other. A few residents milled about with carers in tow, but no one paid him any mind. Turning a corner, he reached the private suites—or the rooms as they were listed on the schedule. There was the low murmuring of voices behind the first door; someone had a visitor. Then, all too soon, Isak found himself standing at the entrance to room 2 listening to nothing but his heartbeat. No visitors here, except for Isak.  

Stealing himself, and taking one deep breath, Isak reached for the handle, turning it slowly and carefully. All of his movements and every footstep seemed louder than it should be. Once the door was cracked open, he peered in hesitantly; there was no sights or sounds of motion within, he was met with only stillness.

“ _ Hello _ ?” he called out softly. 

He  _ should  _ have knocked. Why hadn't he knocked? The nurses had a duty to be on hand and go about their business with little to impede them, so on the occasions they needed to enter residents’ rooms they rarely knocked. However this felt intrusive of him. He  _ wasn’t  _ a nurse, and his duty wasn’t the health or wellbeing of whoever lived here.

There was no reply. Isak dithered before easing through the entranceway and moving further into the room. Some of the residents slept most of the day before becoming premature ghosts in the lounge at night. What would he do then if whoever was here wasn’t awake? Come back later? When would that be? But he needed to try; he was here now. 

He let go of the handle, the only sound being his trainers on the lino and the soft scrape of the door easing closed. “ _ Hello? _ ” he repeated quietly, trying to crane his neck to see around the end of the short entrance hall. 

Then there was movement: cotton sliding against cotton and an unintelligible murmur before he heard a voice. It was paper thin and at the same time sharp, but it was the word that twisted his stomach. No, not the word, but how this person held it in their mouth.

“ _ Even _ ?” 

_ This was it. There was no going back _ . 

He smoothed his hands down his stomach nervously before stepping into the room to present himself; the person who wasn't actually Even. But Isak had been right, this wasn't a coincidence, this person  _ knew  _ Even. More than that, they expected him.

“No, sorry. I'm—my name is Isak. I know Ev—” 

“ _ Did you get my drink _ ? I asked you  _ again  _ and  _ again  _ to get my drink. Why can't you do that one bloody thing?” 

Isak licked his lips. The voice was desperate and hostile, it didn’t help his nerves. He scanned the room; it was sparse and dull, there were flowers by the window—in a plain ceramic vase—that had started to wilt. The only other thing that stood out, among the muted colours and practical furnishings, was a photo frame of a woman holding a child. Isak wasn't close enough to see the details of who it was yet. 

Edging closer, Isak frowned at the small mound buried under light blankets on the bed. There was a mess of thin white-blonde hair that poked from the top, and one frail hand was gripping at the covers. Her eyes were closed, so Isak studied her closely. The skin on her face was as well-worn as her voice had been, and there was a definite acuteness to her—something acidic, that was the best Isak could do at explaining it. She wasn't even  _ that  _ old, by Isak’s estimations, but she was nearly transparent; more out of this world than in it. There was something daunting about this person, Isak could practically hear the first peal of thunder in the storm that was breaking overhead.

“I'm  _ not  _ Even,” he stated as lowly and calm as he could. Isak’s feet took another unbidden step towards the bed, he wanted to see the picture. Curiosity was waging a war with fear, and currently it had the upper hand.

But any other thoughts were lost when her eyes opened; pale blue and the twin of Even’s. Isak froze, not only at the familiar features that somehow managed to be so foreign, but the contempt that lay in her glare. 

“Always— _ always— _ excuses.  _ Always  _ thinking of yourself.” 

Isak swallowed. She couldn't see him, despite there probably being nothing wrong with her vision, but Isak had seen people with delusion before—especially at the hospice. This woman was seeing her nightmares while she was awake. How could Even be a nightmare to  _ anyone? _

His eyes darted back to the picture. The woman there wasn't  _ this  _ woman. The first difference in the photographed woman was her age, older than who ever lay in bed, and yet more alive than her. She was softer around the edges too, a warmth seemed to radiate from the aged photo. The child in her arms, however, was unmistakable:  _ Even _ . A young boy with a wide, warm smile that hadn't changed. They both seemed happy because she was beaming too, arms wrapped tightly to the other. That must be his Nan, the one person Even let himself speak of. He wanted to smile at the image, that tiny bit of comfort he knew Even  _ had  _ experienced, but then his eyes examined the frame and that small measure of consolation was shattered. There was no glass overlay, and the frame had been dented with cracks at the corners. 

_ How many times had it been tossed on the floor?  _

Hesitating, Isak wasn't sure how to play this. If she  _ was  _ mad, there was no point in him standing here. But maybe he could find out something if he played the part. “I'm sorry, they didn't have any drink.” The words slipped out before he'd really thought them through. 

She snorted derisively. “Can't even do  _ one  _ thing for your own mum, can you?  _ Sorry _ ,” she mimicked nastily. “ _ Always _ fucking sorry.” 

_ Mum?  _ This was Even’s mum? He'd said she was dead? Isak frowned. That could wait—it would have to wait. But what had happened to make her regard her own son with such hatred? 

“What drink do you want?” 

“ _ What drink do I want?” _ she asked belligerently. “How many times do you need to be told? Vodka, whiskey, beer… just get me  _ anything _ .”

Isak remembered now; Even had said she was an alcoholic, maybe that’s why he’d kept her a secret. But something else tickled his mind too: Sana—months ago now—mentioning about a young patient dying of alcohol abuse, and that her son and only relative didn't visit her. It had been such an off-hand comment, but Isak remembered his own distaste towards the son for not visiting. Now he knew—some of it at least. There was more, he  _ knew _ , and if he recalled correctly from Sana’s defence of the situation, he was right. 

Shaking his head, Isak tried to figure out where to go from here, all the while trying to keep his anger from rising. But the truth was he was already feeling hostile towards this woman simply from the small amount he knew of her. “You know what, they don't sell that here, and they won't let me bring it in—so you'll have to suffer.” Isak’s words came out harder than he'd intended, but any concern or care over his tone was gone. He should go, no good would come of this. 

She frowned then blinked, as if trying to recall some long abandoned information, and something seemed to change in her. Before Isak had a chance to retreat, her bony hand shot out and gripped his wrist. There was no warmth in her touch, just a sickly smoothness to her skin that made Isak feel she'd been preserved—embalmed in a toxic past. 

“No, Even, I'm sorry. I'm sorry.  _ I'm sorry _ ,” she urged. Desperation was clear in her tone and the switch in her demeanour was unnerving. 

Isak shook his head. “It's OK.” He knew full well that the words were not honest but he lied regardless—trying to pull from her. But the grip on his wrist was unrelenting. 

“Sit with me— _ please _ —I have these dreams all the time. I don't know when my eyes are open or closed—please, Even. It's endless,  _ all the time _ ,” her voice was an exhausted wail by the end of her stop and start sentence—like a scratched old record, skipping tempo and song. Isak couldn't trust the plea that he heard; he couldn't trust her facade. 

Despite that, he perched—as uncomfortable as it was—on the edge of the bed. The only thing that kept the feeling of rank oil covering his skin at bay was Even’s smile, captured but waning from the long years it had suffered. He would see that smile when he got home, bigger and brighter than anything Isak had ever known, more comforting than hot chocolate and thick blankets in a snow covered cabin. Isak would kiss that smile until all of these memories faded… for him or for Even though?

“Dreams are just dreams,” he muttered. 

“No,  _ no _ ,” she insisted, “these aren't  _ just  _ dreams. They're from before. You know. All those things. Things  _ you _ did…” She closed her eyes, screwing them shut like it could help, as if that thin and wrinkled layer of skin could protect her from this torment. 

Spiders were crawling over his skin. Isak swallowed before asking the question that begged to be asked. “What…” he began, voice cracking, “what did I do?” 

***

She snorted an unimpressed laugh, it sounded like something much too strong to be coming from her feeble body, and the hold on Isak’s arm was gone. “ _ What did you do _ ?” She repeated scornfully. There was another grunt. “ _ You _ . Always so quiet and  _ sweet.”  _ She'd turned back to acidity, the words spat like they were dirty. “But  _ I  _ saw you— _ I  _ knew what you were  _ really _ doing.” A bony finger jabbed at her own chest in vindication of this knowledge, as though Isak might think she was talking about someone else. 

A feeling of sickness had been churning in Isak’s stomach, the sensation now reached his throat and it burned at the back of his tongue. “What was that?” His mouth had a mind of its own; he was wondering into these nightmares himself, unable to stop his feet from taking him there. 

She spluttered, unable to find footing until anger took root in her body, but then the needle found a place to settle on the vinyl that it scratched steadily along. “You.  _ You.  _ You wanted attention, you wanted  _ someone  _ to notice how  _ good  _ you were. And when he did, you never said a word. Not one.” Isak couldn't speak because bile was now in his mouth—there was no way to forestall her words and his body was frozen in place. “You just wanted to take something special from me, didn't you? Spiteful, attention seeking…  _ you _ . And I-I  _ saw  _ how he looked at you. I  _ heard  _ when he went to you.  _ You  _ make me sick.” 

Anger and helplessness exploded in Isak as the words took life in his skull, the notions causing sickening images to burst into his mind that Isak couldn’t hold back. The pictures in the journal, the clues that Isak had already gleaned… 

“How old?  _ How old was I _ .” The voice raged from somewhere deep inside of him, and he had no control of it. 

“Does it even matter?” she replied languidly, as if they were discussing bread and she was utterly bored of the conversation. It was semantics to her; who cared how old Even was? 

“ _ How old _ ?” he demanded, turning to her.

Her eyes were still clouded with the past, but they were wide and shocked at this reaction, a retort that must be new to her—Isak felt no remorse. “Eight. Eight or nine. What does it matter? You were the same since you were born:  _ wanting  _ for attention from anyone that would give it.” 

Isak's fists were tight in the sheets. All he could do was breathe, clamping down on the fierce emotions that wanted to break free, because if he released them they would bring an entirely different storm. Things would break, and he had no mind to damage the frame—that served as Even’s only protection in this room—any further than it had been already. “You're supposed to be his mum. You're supposed to protect  _ him _ .” His voice was cold, hard and emotionless, but his hands ached to lay into flesh, to beat someone bloody. How could she have let this happen to her own son? 

Blinking, the lines in her brow deepened, it seemed like a veil had lifted and she was seeing him for the first time. “Birk?” 

Isak was thrown off again, the needle jumping to a different point. “It's—” He tried to tell her again who he was but she bit in to his words with a defensive howl, jerking back in the bed, and further away from Isak. 

“No,  _ Birk _ , it's not like that. It  _ wasn't  _ my fault. A-and I couldn't do anything, he never  _ told  _ me. He never said anything. He was always such a quiet boy.” Isak could see tears welling in her eyes now, but he had no compassion for her. “Please don't be angry with me, I tried to protect him. I did but then  _ he  _ would hurt me.” Isak could guess that the  _ he _ she meant this time was their abuser. It would be little surprise to uncover that they’d both been tormented by the same hands. “He would beat me if I told him to stop—to leave Even alone—said it was  _ my  _ fault.  _ He hurt me too _ .” Her words trailed from a plea to an urgent defence of herself, trying desperately to explain away her inaction, trying to justify herself to whomever she had now seen in Isak’s place. 

_ Who was Birk? _

Isak was off balance, caught in the imagined horror of being stuck within a violent life that she described, before any understanding evaporated—hissing and spitting indignation, like fat on a naked flame, in his lapse of loyalty—as he imagined Even, vulnerable and alone, being hurt in many more ways than her. While  _ she _ let it happen. 

Releasing the cotton in his grip, Isak forced himself to breathe again before he continued. Then he counted down from ten, and his eyes followed the rectangular, broken frame in time to his countdown. Ten times. He would do it ten times and then he could find some calm. He  _ could  _ do this—for Even.  

_ Four, three, two, one... _

“When did he leave?” 

She worked her mouth, seeming to sift through the tangled, failed mess that was her life for answers. “He disappeared—I lost my job, you see. Too much stock went missing and always  _ me  _ at blame. It was the manager, you know. I’m sure of it—she never liked me. She set me up ‘cos I'd never steal— _ you _ know that, Birk. Jealous. Jealous of  _ me _ because she was alone. I bet he left me for her—” The record was scratched beyond repair, and like a record the same songs played over and over. Apparently nothing was this woman's fault. Isak was sick of looking at her.

“ _ No _ ,” Isak's tone was harsh, slamming down on her ramblings, smiting them and leaving nothing but the dust of a whimper. She flinched; jolting from her paranoid and sour digressions to a very visible, pale knuckled fear. Isak still felt no penitence. “When did  _ Even  _ leave you?” 

She licked her lips. “Fourteen,” she stammered before a daze seemed to take her. “He was fourteen. He left me— _ everyone _ left me.” 

“Five years,” Isak said numbly. Five years of abuse— _ or  _ six, depending on how he counted… while Isak was at home playing with toy trains or arguing over football with Jonas. What was the worst he’d had to cope with at that age? His mum cooking a dinner he didn’t like? Having to go to church once a month and put up with cheek pinching old biddies? How had he  _ ever  _ thought his life was bad?

_ How had Even survived? _

“Fourteen—fourteen— _ fourteen,”  _ she repeated feverishly, more erratic every time she muttered the word. “That was how many steps there were. In the night. There were fourteen steps from my bed to his room. Fourteen. I would count— _ I would. _ Every time I counted. But it never made me sleep, I could  _ never  _ sleep. I held my breath until he was back. I  _ never  _ died.” The way she stated that was like she’d wished for death then. She probably wished for it now—yet still, Isak couldn’t grasp any empathy. She’d made this entirely about herself, turned her son into a villain in her memories to escape the blame. 

There was just white hot rage and that sickening feeling within Isak. All the small details he’d learned from Even’s past were bubbling to the surface. He would bet that Even had listened out for those footsteps too… 

Then the clues that had slipped out over the last few months sprung up among the dark thoughts. Even had continued to care for her, way past what any normal person would have done. “He— _ Even _ cooked for you, he tried to look after you. He  _ loved  _ you, and you— _ you _ left him for the monsters,” Isak’s voice boomed from his heart, his core, his  _ soul _ . He knew he shouldn’t speak like this, not in this place, but there was no control left in him. 

“No. No. No. No. No,” she repeated in refusal, her head shaking so hard it might fall off her scrawny neck. “No, it wasn’t like that—”

“He tried to stick up for you, didn’t he?” Even had said he’d received plenty of beatings before—worse than the one Isak had seen the aftermath of.  _ This  _ was where it had started. “Even tried to protect you from him.” Isak didn't even know who this  _ he  _ was, but he didn't want to. He already knew more than enough.

Her eyes were like saucers now, wide and too white, her face drained of all blood. The straggly wisps of colour depleted hair still swaying as she shook her head slower in denial, but she didn’t answer—there was no pre recorded reply at hand. 

_ “Didn’t he?”  _ Isak persisted, standing from the bed and towering over her. He  _ would  _ make her say it, he  _ would  _ make her stop saying these cruel things about Even—about her own goddamn child. How could she believe her lies? What sort of warped mind would twist things to hate the very person who’d suffered the most? Isak knew it was the guilt suffocating her, but he couldn’t reason himself out of this vehemence. 

Her expression broke into sorrow, lip quivering and her hands beginning to shake. There  _ was  _ pain in her—honest agony beneath the misplaced hate. “He was so small, and bruised so easily. I bathed him, when it was bad, with salts. I  _ did  _ look after him. I promise—  _ I tried _ …” 

Isak had to unclench his jaw. That was enough. He had to go, there was somewhere else he was supposed to be and it wasn't anywhere near this monster. Grabbing the photo, Isak turned his back on her, moving for the door. 

“Birk… Birk— _Even,”_ her voice was strained with panic. “Please don't leave me. You didn't say anything. You didn't. _You should have told me_ …” Her final defence was moaned at Isak's back. 

***

Bracing himself, Isak cast a final glance over his shoulder. There were a million things he wanted to say, but he didn't know where to start. He should tell her that she was a villain herself, as bad as the  _ he  _ that had tortured her relentlessly; he wanted to list all the things she'd lost not having her son around; how incredible he was despite the disgusting situation she’d forced him to live through; how good her own life could have been if she’d just done what was right for her son. But even words were more than she deserved. 

“But you did know,” he said simply.

The sound of her sobs didn't move through his skin, it didn't touch him. Isak pushed his way out of the door and staggered across the hall. Slamming one palm against the cool wall for strength, the other clutched the photo frame so firmly to his chest that the wood bit into his skin. His rib cage was tight and it was hard to breathe. All he could think about was the frigid air outside and how he needed it to numb him right this minute. 

With that single notion latched on to, he lurched away from the stretch of lanolin flooring outside room 2, turning just as Sana appeared from around the corner. Her eyes fell on to him instantly before they flitted to the door he’d been striding away from. There was a brief moment of hesitancy in her reactions, that Isak didn't miss, before she paced the hall to where he’d stopped again. He hadn’t realised his feet were frozen still.

“I was looking for you,” she said, the weak smile melting to a grim expression as Isak remained motionless. She stopped short of him, gaze searching his face as concern dawned on her. “What did you do?” she asked quietly. She held out a hand to touch his shoulder, to maybe soothe him, but Isak jerked away. 

“You knew about her. You never told me.” It was all he could find to say, like it would have helped if she had. But he was angry—he was  _ livid _ . Something should have been done, Even should never have been given this pain. 

Sana shook her head. “Isak, it's not my place. It's his life, it's up to him what he keeps secret.” 

He knew that, knew it was the truth. But Isak was utterly distressed in that moment, emotions cutting at every inch of his skin, and he didn't know what to do with it all. “How much do you know?” If Even’s mum had thought he was Even—or whoever Birk was—did she do that to others too? Did she say those things a lot?

The sadness in Sana’s face answered him. “She thinks everyone is Even. Screaming or begging—it’s always Even.” 

Isak swallowed. “So… so you  _ know _ ?” 

Swiping a tear away from her eye with a thumb, empathy made its appearance within Isak—he didn’t want Sana to feel bad, this wasn’t her fault. Then he realised there were tear tracks cold on his own cheeks. He hadn't felt them fall. “It doesn't take much to guess, but I wish I didn't know. We told him not to come, he wanted to help, but it was too much to hear every single time. He deserves to be free of that.” 

_ He'd wanted to keep coming?  _

And so Sana had been right about that boy who didn’t visit his mother. Sometimes life really wasn't as simple as you assumed it was. 

Isak pressed his eyes closed. He needed to keep moving before it became impossible. If he didn’t take a step forward now, he would crumple to the floor. There wasn’t enough air here, it felt like water when he breathed—he was drowning. The cream walls were thick like wool around his head, closing in, and his heart started to beat erratically against his chest. The world seemed far away and he was viewing it through a fog.

“I have to go,” he muttered, pushing passed his friend.  

“Isak, let me drop you off,” she called after him but it fell on deaf ears—the thick air absorbing her voice before it reached him. Isak was focussed on home, on getting to Even… and then what? He didn't have the answers, but everything swirled in his head—bits of memories learned that were now like jagged glass stabbing at him when they shifted and exposed a new truth. All these things that hurt and devastated but that he had absolutely no control of. 

He was spiralling. He had no control.

So lost, Isak didn't see Sana in her own grief, or as she pulled out her phone to send a message. He didn't see the ambulance outside as Mrs B was wheeled out from the building, one final time and leaving her beloved husband cast adrift in a solitary vessel. He didn't hear the cars, birds, people…  

He was adrift too, but he could find himself  _ and  _ stable ground. He had his Even.

It was a shock when he found himself striding through the living room of their flat. The walk was a blur, and Isak came to a halt in the kitchen. There were footsteps—they were Even’s—and he was safe. How odd to feel that he needed safety, after everything Isak had just learned. No one was here—it was just them. The strings holding Isak together were already frayed, one by one they snapped beneath the pressure. And he thought it was the way he’d run that made him breathless, but here he stood, panting like his lungs were suddenly inept at doing their job.

“Isak? Eskild and Magnus had to go,” Even’s voice reached him first. Low and all that Isak knew it would be—deep with concern. Because  _ of course _ Even would feel concern for Isak before any other emotion. That was just who he was, despite everything he had been through.

The kitchen counter was cool beneath Isak’s palm, he registered that sensation first before his knees didn't seem to want to hold up any more. They hit the tiles, and he knew they would bruise from that impact, but the pain didn’t manage to reach his brain—it was already occupied with the glass it juggled and cut itself on. 

He couldn't breathe. 

_ “Isak?”  _

###  Even 

Even wasn't complaining that the apartment was empty—as opposed to being full of larger than life characters that had, by now, taken a firm place in his heart. The company was good, but being on his own allowed him to get on with a task he'd been trying to accomplish without Isak's knowledge. 

Now it was done—to the best of his ability at least—he felt a little lost: sat on his bed, adrift among Isak and his own belongings. 

It had definitely been odd, one moment Eskild had been considering what they should do for dinner—because  _ apparently _ they were staying until the evening—the next minute, he'd peered at his phone and announced that they had to leave, much to Magnus' bewilderment. And, no matter how many times Eskild reassured him about this  _ thing _ they'd forgotten to do, Magnus didn't look any less confused. 

It was quiet.  _ Too _ quiet. And, just as Even had decided that perhaps he could put a wash load on because they needed wash cloths, he heard a key in the front door.

“Isak?” he called out once the door banged shut. Footsteps were the only reply, so Even stood and headed out of their room. 

_ Their room.  _

“Eskild and Magnus had to go,” he added, just in case Isak had been wondering why exactly it was so quiet. But it had taken him a long time to go and get milk. Had he gone to find a cow to cut out the middleman? He'd ask that, Even decided, about to grin at his own jibe… that was until he saw Isak.

Emerging from the hall, Even didn't have time to frown before he watched a pale faced Isak crumple to his knees, one hand gripping to the edge of the worktop. His other hand held a photo frame, picture side pressed to Isak's chest so Even could only see the wooden panel at the back. All he did was stare at the tile in front of his knees, breathing rapidly. 

“ _ Isak? _ ” He took all that in within one heartbeat before his legs were moving. It was perhaps a stride or two until he arrived at Isak, then he knelt smoothly in front of him. “Baby, what happened?” he urged quietly, hand reaching out to lay two fingers softly against Isak’s neck. His heart was beating too fast and he was sweating; Even knew what this was. 

“ _ Baby _ ,” he repeated, Isak's eyes were still staring at the tile between them. As much as Even wanted to hold him, space was important right now. Shifting until he was cross legged, Even reached out with both hands, cupping Isak's face carefully. “Look at me, Isak.” Another few rapid breaths but his eyes didn't move. “Look at me,” he repeated, a little firmer. 

Then his gaze slipped to meet Even’s eyes before he squeezed them shut. He looked pained, both physically and emotionally.

“Isak, you're having a panic attack. It's going to be OK, you just have to focus on breathing. OK? One deep breath after the other. Stop thinking and just breathe. Can you do that for me?” 

Isak nodded once. 

“OK, in…” And Even inhaled with him. “One, two, three… OK, out. Again…” Isak listened and obliged as they both paced their breathing. But as each intake became calmer, emotions began to claw their way across Isak's face: his lip began to tremble, his forehead creased in anguish before a tear broke from his lashes to slide down his cheek. Yet still he wouldn't look at Even. 

_ What had happened? _

Had something gone off between him and his parents? An accident maybe? Or they'd called? Perhaps things were worse than Even had thought… 

His own hold on Isak's face didn't relent, but the hand that had gripped the kitchen counter was now firmly clutching at Even’s wrist, gripping to him like he might disappear at any moment.

“Can you tell me what happened?” 

Isak inhaled deeply, but instead of answering he brought the frame he held forward. It was the first time Even had eyes for anything other than Isak as it was proffered timidly. “I couldn't leave you there,” he whispered, cutting off as he squeezed his eyes tighter still. Another tear made a break for freedom. “Not with her.”

Even took in the battered rectangle of wood, recognising it immediately. It had only been replaced a few months ago and it was already falling apart. That wasn't the important thing. Letting one hand drop from Isak’s warm skin, he turned it to find what he knew would be there: an aged and dog-eared  picture, scratched from broken glass. Strangely she'd never tried to rip it up, maybe there was some semblance of a heart beneath her raging delusions. It was him as a child with his grandma. And now he understood the anguish he saw in Isak, despite Even being in shock at the revelation. Not only had Isak figured it out and met it head on, but he’d come back—he'd come  _ home _ . And Isak was grieving for him, no one had ever grieved for him. Not even the older version of himself.

Pushing the picture to one side he leant forward, bringing his forehead to press against Isak's. “I'm so sorry you had to see her. I'm sorry I didn't tell you,” he whispered.

Isak’s eyes flashed open, another tear released, but confusion clouded his gaze. “ _ Sorry _ ? You have nothing to be sorry about… you— _ you _ shouldn't say that.  _ I'm _ sorry. I shouldn't have gone, I just… I wanted you to see that, whatever the problem was, that it didn’t matter.” 

If the situation had been less than serious, Even would have pointed out that Isak's detective skills were impeccable—better than Poirot and Holmes combined. But it  _ was _ serious. He should never have tried to hide this. 

Even chewed his lip before responding. “She spoke to you?” Isak just nodded, closing his eyes in torment again. So he knew. Even was well aware of the way she spoke and raged at everyone like they were her son. The iller she'd become, the worse her rantings. “And you're still sure it doesn't matter?” He asked quietly, trying not to let his own nerves affect his voice. 

Isak stilled, the expression that was levelled at Even was accusatory. “ _ Of course _ it doesn't. Why would you…  _ you'd think it could change how I feel _ ?” 

Shaking his head, Even tried to put his fears into words. “I was worried you'd look at me differently. You'd be frightened to touch me incase you hurt me—or maybe you just wouldn’t want to touch me anymore because—I-I don’t know. I didn't want it to scare you. Or for you to think I'm…  _ damaged _ .” It was harder than he’d thought to express the shame that he couldn’t quite detach from his past.

“I don't think you're  _ damaged _ ,” the tone in Isak's voice was still hot, but not towards Even, just directed at the issue in hand. But his frown deepened. “And I'm not scared,” Isak retorted. “I'm angry… a-and I'm frustrated. I can't believe that I've felt so sorry for  _ myself _ . And I can't—” He broke off, breath quickening as renewed panic washed over him in a wave.

“Breathe baby, take your time,” Even urged gently, his thumb brushing over Isak's cheeks to wipe away the tears.  

“I can't control it, I can't take it back—I can't  _ help  _ you.” The words tumbled out, one chasing the other as Isak became increasingly frustrated. “I-I can't  _ save  _ you from it.” His words seemed to take all his breath and energy, and Isak slumped in defeat when the final words was spoken.

It was hard not to let emotions overwhelm Even as well, as he looked at Isak who only wanted to protect him as a child—despite it being impossible. It was his turn to take a deep breath, trying to settle the wonder that Isak never ceased to provoke in him. “You already did…  _ save _ me,” he reassured softly. It was the truth, everything Isak had brought with him, in his stumbling and flustered entrance into Even’s world, had brought change everywhere. It had renewed his life. 

Isak closed his eyes again at those words, because  _ of course _ he wanted to do the impossible—reverse time. What he'd managed to do so far for Even he would deem not enough, despite the fact it was a miracle on its own. Even was shaking his head. “Baby, don't cry. No one can take it back. But, if you managed to create a time machine—which, by the way, you're smart enough to do—I have no doubt that you would go back and make it right.” He let himself smile when Isak huffed a small, quiet laugh before the too recent trauma restored itself. “The thing is, I survived; she didn't,” he added gently. 

Isak met his eyes and Even found vast fields of sorrow within his gaze. “How could she do it?” 

Sighing, Even shrugged. “I don't know,” he replied honestly. He'd held himself to ransom over that question since the abuse, and the subsequent disregard of it, started: Had he deserved it? Did he do something wrong? “But I know there's no answer, just torture. All we know is what we have now. We have each other.” 

Stillness settled on Isak as he focussed on Even before he nodded, finding  some peace in that sentiment. “OK.” But he still looked pale, despite having calmed down. 

“I have something to show you that I think will help, but first I'm making you a tea—chamomile… or  _ something _ . And you'll drink it, OK?” 

Isak nodded.

Standing, Even reluctantly left Isak sitting in a daze, albeit a calmer one. It would be a lot to digest. Rifling through the cupboard, he searched the various boxes of tea to find the one he needed. Shooting a furtive glance over his shoulder, Even tried to thinkof what he could say to alleviate the situation. 

“So, that was a panic attack?” Isak bought him some time with that question. Even nodded before grabbing the correct yellow and white box. And it was the bagged variety so he didn’t need to bother with a diffuser. 

_ Chamomile and honey. _

“You’ve never had one before?” he mused. The teabag was put into the Mr Happy mug, placed under the spout, and the button pressed. Even leant against the counter top studying Isak where he sat, solemnly studying the picture frame. He just shook his head. 

“Kinda felt like I was dying.”

“Feels like it, but you won’t. We can go over how to cope with them, or prevent it from getting to that point—I have some good tips. One of my clients used to have them; she had a stressful job and usually would call me when it got a bit too much. Sometimes she’d tell me what was going on... and  _ sometimes  _ that would bring on a panic attack,” he shrugged. Oddly it didn’t feel strange to talk about what he used to do with Isak. He’d assumed it would. But now Isak knew everything, he accepted it without batting an eyelid. 

There was a pause as the hot water streamed from the spout and into the mug. “So, you’re like a doctor, huh?” Isak mused, a familiar wry tone in his voice—lighter than usual but it was good to hear all the same. 

Even scoffed at that. “Hardly. But if I  _ am,  _ then I’m a private doctor now, with only one patient.” That earned him a weak smile, and Isak shook his head. If this was any other day Even was about to be chastised for being corny, while at the same time Isak would be grinning—thoroughly enjoying the pandering. This wasn’t any ordinary day, and the despondent spell quickly settled back on Isak. As he added a splash of cold water to the tea, Even tried to think of that silver lining again to make an attempt at lessening Isak’s despair. “It wasn’t all bad,” he said, nodding at the photo. “I had my nan. She didn’t know what was going on—but it was a safe place.” Isak nodded; Even had mentioned that before. “And I had a dog,” he added with a smile. 

Isak frowned at him.  _ “A dog?” _

“Yep. Ibsen. He was around since before I can remember, my dad named him.” Even had many fond memories of that dog, they grew up together and it had been a remnant of the man he couldn’t remember. He knew now, in hindsight, it could all have been made up, including the story of Ibsen’s name. But when he was a child he clung to the very few  _ facts  _ that he had, spending countless nights imagining who his father had been. His mum never told him much more than the basics, he wasn’t even sure how they’d met.

Isak paused, looking thoughtful. “Was your dad’s name Birk?”

It was Even’s turn to furrow his brow, perplexed by the question. How could he know that? “Yes,” he replied slowly. “It’s about all I knew of him. Mum said he died when I was one,” he shrugged. “I don’t know how, or  _ if, _ it’s true.” He paused to chew on his lower lip. “How did you know that?” 

“Your mum… she thought I was  _ you _ , and then she thought I was Birk.” 

Even paced back across the kitchen, mug in hand before settling back on the floor, passing the hot drink to Isak, and smiling when he automatically blew across the top and took a tentative sip. “She’s never done that before,” he said quietly. “ _ Well _ —as far as I  _ know _ . I haven't been in a while now.” 

“Sana said it’s just you— _ only you— _ that she talks to,” Isak affirmed, his voice strengthening but mentally still lost somewhere in the hospice. 

“You spoke to Sana?” Guilt was back, sitting heavily on Even’s shoulders. It hadn’t been right for him to have kept it a secret, especially when Sana knew. It put her in an awkward situation too. 

Isak was shaking his head. “I did… I need to apologise. It’s not her fault,” his eyes snapped up to Even’s face, as if he could taste the guilt that was there. “It’s not your fault either, so stop it. I’m not mad at you— _ I understand _ .”

Nodding, Even tried to obey just as dutifully as Isak was sipping at the tea he’d agreed to drink. “I guess that explains why Eskild and Magnus left: Sana.” Isak just chewed his lip and nodded, evidently that wasn’t the pressing issue right now. And Even easily agreed there; no one had been mistaken for his father before. Isak seemed to have brought more nightmares alive for her. Maybe he’d jolted some memories from deep within her damaged mind. “What did you say to her?—My mum, I mean.” It felt odd to call her that, he hadn’t spoken of her to anyone in years, let alone call her his mum. But they were just words.

Sighing, Isak studied the mug in his hands. “I don’t really remember, it’s kinda hazy…” he trailed off, obviously recounting the interaction. The expression that finally dawned on Isak was sheepish, before he began to assert himself righteously again. “I told her she was  _ supposed  _ to protect you. I was fucking  _ livid _ ,” he stated, tipping his chin up in defiance. “I  _ should  _ have said more, but I just wanted to come home. I needed you.” 

Even squeezed Isak’s knee in reassurance as he smiled at the sentiment;  _ home _ . “Maybe that’s it, I used to ignore it when she started. I think everyone else tried to, out of politeness. You were probably the first to challenge her, maybe my dad is in her nightmares, too, because she—” Even paused, trying to figure out a way to phrase things. “did what she did. Who knows what else happened.” It was a pointless query, and one he wasn’t about to lose any sleep over. Even was truly done with that part of his life.

Isak simply nodded, drinking down some more tea. Then he placed the cup down before hesitating. “And so the  _ he—” _

“My step-dad,” Even finished off, holding Isak’s gaze. He staved off the tug of shame that gripped at him. But, that aside, it was only the fear of his past changing Isak’s love for him that had held him back, that and opening up to someone was entirely new for Even. Isak didn’t look away, finding his courage, too.

“You had a dog, that’s good; Ibsen.” Isak said, as much to himself as to Even, trying to remember the positives. Even nodded, reaching out a hand to temper down a wind swept curl springing from the top of Isak’s head. Then a familiar snort followed. “ _ Ibsen?” _

Even couldn’t help the quiet laugh that tumbled from him. “Like I said,  _ I _ didn’t name him.”  __

“Maybe your dad liked reading, too,” Isak offered softly.

Even shrugged. “Maybe,” he murmured noncommittally. “But I used to love that mutt, gave me an excuse to get out of the house and walk him. And then sometimes we would hide up in the attic together—you had to climb a ladder to get up there. I would take a duvet and some books… most of the time no one bothered us.” He sighed, remembering his companion who had been happy to see him and spend time with him. Sometimes Ibsen would even try to protect him. “One day I came home from school and he was gone, I think I was ten.”

“Gone? Because of him?”

“They said he ran away, but I know that was a lie—Ibsen  _ never  _ ran away. But I didn’t really ask questions ‘cos I knew they wouldn’t give answers.” An unease settled in the room again. Perhaps there really were no silver linings. This wasn’t how he’d intended this to play out, before Isak had come home, but they were here now, and maybe his surprise would help. “Come, I have something to show you,” he said gently, squeezing Isak’s knee again before making to stand and helping Isak to his feet. “You OK to walk? Or should I carry you like a princess?” 

Isak snorted again, shaking his head. “I’m fine, I think. Just a bit light headed.” But he still let Even take his mug and slide an arm around him while they made a slow path to the bedroom—Isak reclaimed and kept a tight grip on the photo he'd rescued. “So, what is it?” he asked, frowning up at Even.

“It’s a surprise,” Even grinned back. He pushed against the bedroom door. “You lay down,” he said, accompanying Isak to the bed, “and I’ll show you.” he added, placing the mug on the bedside table. Isak watched him quizzically as he eased back onto the pillows, placing the photo next to his mug. First Even went to the curtains to draw them, then he was moving towards the light switch.

“You know you don’t have to try tricks to get me into bed,” Isak snickered. 

Even quirked an eyebrow at him, relieved to see more of the Isak he knew coming back to life. “Where’s the fun if I don’t trick you?” His finger was poised on the switch. “Ready?”

Isak shrugged. “I guess so…” 

The light was off once the words were out. It took a few seconds but, as Even’s eyes began to adjust, he began to see them. He made his way to the other side of the bed as they were becoming quite clear; UV stars plastered all over the ceiling. Well, they weren't just plastered any old way, there was a method to the madness. 

“So,” he began, getting comfortable next to Isak as he admired his own handywork. “Do you like them?” 

Isak was still for a moment before he replied. “You brought me the stars?” he asked quietly. 

“So we can wave at them in here—you know, with our toes?  _ And  _ not get caught in the rain.”

There was another pause, but Even hear him swallow before he replied—moved by the gesture. “Are they constellations?” Even hummed a  _ yes.  _ “Cancer,” he announced pointing to one, “and Aquarius?” His hand shifted to the second out of three star masses. “Are you into astrology? Fuck, I don’t think this is gonna work out… it’s been nice while it lasted.”

Even couldn’t help laughing at Isak’s tease, it didn’t matter because he could hear the pleasure and emotion in Isak’s voice. “No, I just figured it would be cool to have our birth constellations up there. You might not forget my birthday that way,” he threw back the jibe along with his elbow in Isak’s ribs. 

Now Isak was laughing too. Then he pointed at the third mass. “Orion?”

“Yup.” Even could practically hear him puzzling it out. 

“Why Orion?” he asked, drawing no conclusions. 

“Well, Orion was given up at birth by Zeus and Poseidon, he became some badass hunter and then he fell in love with the moon goddess, Artemis,” he stated, eyes following the lines of the stars above them. “Then some other typically tragic shit happened and he ended up a bunch of stars, but we can just focus on the romantic bit. And you know….  _ The Cosmos are within us. _ ” 

He felt Isak’s frown directed at the side of his face. “You remember that?”

“We are all made of stardust,” Even added in confirmation. He wouldn’t forget their conversation on the Opera House roof for the rest of his life. It was one of the most defining moments in his existence, he was sure. 

Isak was left speechless for a moment, before he made a low and amused sound in his throat. He’d just worked out the Orion puzzle. “So, what you’re saying is: you’re the bad ass hunter and I’m the  _ moon goddess _ ?” Isak asked, feigning offence. 

Rolling on to his elbow, Even grinned down at Isak. “Not just  _ any  _ goddess, she was the goddess of the hunt— _ that’s _ fucking cool.  _ And  _ she was chaste.” He added the final sentence with a quirk of his eyebrows. 

“Chaste? Like virginal? And you still think  _ I _ am  _ moon goddess _ ?” The offence had now turned into genuinely spluttered shock.

“Even when you’re doing filthy things, you are still the purest thing I’ve ever seen,” Even snorted a laugh as Isak rolled his eyes. “What?  _ It’s true _ ,” he contended.

“You can’t help yourself, can you? God, you’re so cheesy,” he paused as the smile won out on his face. “Why do I love it so much?” 

Pushing back the hair from Isak’s forehead, Even just absorbed him, relaxing and letting go of the tension. That was good—better than good. “Someone has to put up with me.”

Isak shook his head in disagreement but a thought passed over him before he could scold Even. “How do you know all this shit anyway? Gods and Goddesses…  _ mythology _ ,”

Shrugging, Even wasn’t entirely sure himself. He just read a lot, and once he’d read something it usually stayed in his brain. The amount of useless information he had stockpiled up there was obscene. “I just read a lot, guess I’m a Jack of all trades and master of none.” 

Reaching out, Isak’s fingers returned the favour, playing with a strand of Even’s hair that had fallen forward on his brow.  “You are a master at survival,” he mused. “I don’t think I would have survived, or many people. Not only survived, but come to where you are?” He shook his head again. “You are the most amazing person I’ve ever met,” he added quietly, his voice becoming rough with emotion and sincerity. 

And Even didn’t know what to say to that. The only people he’d been close to had been delusional, abusive, or gaslighters. And here Isak was, the antithesis of all that, and the only thing that rolled from his tongue was sincerity. Instead, he moved closer to Isak, laying a light kiss on his forehead. “Maybe I just found the strength because I was supposed to meet you.”

Isak grunted derisively. “I don’t believe in fate; you got yourself through it.” He paused, tipping his chin up to catch Even’s lips, in a twin of that light kiss he’d just been granted, then a sigh was exhaled. “How did you survive?” 

Cocking his head to one side, Even considered Isak, eyes wide and brimming with sorrow that was so close to the surface, it would overflow in the shape of tears soon. “I was luckier than her in a way, she remembers it vividly. When I think back, I  _ know  _ what happened—the _ facts _ —but my memory is cloudy, or abstract—pitch black nothing at times. A lot of the time I wasn’t there at all.” 

The words were supposed to ease the hurt, but if anything it seemed to grieve Isak even more. Two hands were on his cheeks, warmth flooding him from Isak’s palms, and the tips of his fingers stroking through hair at Even’s temples. “I want to take it away. I want to tell her how much of a fucking monster—”

“ _ No, _ ” Even cut him off gently. “She’s already living in her own hell, one she made herself. And she’ll never escape it.” He’d thought about it a lot, and he pitied her now, it was the only reason he’d bothered going down to visit her. He felt sorry for the frantic and desperate life she was left with, despite the fact she probably deserved it all. But  _ he  _ wasn’t a monster, neither was Isak. “Meanwhile, I’m here, in the stars, with my Moon Goddess; I found heaven.”

Isak look dumb founded but nodded slowly, the realisation dawning on him of the truth in Even’s words. “I can’t even complain about you being cheesy, because that was fucking beautiful.”

“It’s really satisfying tricking you into bed, and  _ then _ making you swoon with lines that make your eyes roll and your cheeks all flushed.” Even couldn’t help but grin as Isak tried to muster enough strength to look harassed. 

_ “I did not fucking swoon,”  _ he spluttered. 

Even shrugged. “Swooning, or blushing like a maiden—I’ll take it.”

The fingers in Even’s hair urged him close to Isak's mouth, the tips of their noses bumping. “I love you,” he said solemnly, words whispered on a breath that tickled across Even’s skin. 

“And I love you,” he replied, no tease or jokes, just as serious as Isak was. Because this was the only thing that mattered now. It was Isak that pushed their lips together, a harder and more desirous kiss. There was nothing implied but the need to feel the other close. Even let himself enjoy the nourishment that was Isak's mouth; quick and deep, long and light, their kisses never failed to stir butterflies in his stomach and make his heart swell in his chest. Lips retreated and foreheads pressed together, Even breathed the air that Isak expelled. There was something coming, Even knew it, as Isak toyed with the hair at his nape.  

“I feel—no, I  _ am  _ ridiculous,” he finally admitted. 

Inching back, Even peered down curiously at Isak. “ _ Ridiculous?  _ Why?” What could he possibly feel that way over? 

Isak hesitated before blurting out. “I've been ignoring everything for months, sticking my head in the ground and acting like a fucken toddler—like the fucking world was ending— _ over nothing _ .” He garnished the sentence with an expression that said he was thoroughly pissed off with himself, and scowled at Even’s chin. It probably wasn't a good idea to tell Isak he looked cute when he was petulant. 

“No you haven't. You've been dealing with your own shit, there's no set way to do that.” 

“Pushing my friends away? Not talking to my family? Becoming a recluse? Over something that's  _ nothing _ compared with…” he trailed off, eyes moving up to meet Even’s. He didn't need to say he was comparing their scars.

“Well, now you  _ are  _ being ridiculous,” Even stated. 

“What?  _ It's true _ ,” Isak asserted. He opened his mouth to go on but a hand was laid over his lips. Even grinned at the indignation that flared in his eyes now. 

“Shush.” Isak tried to speak but it was muffled against Even’s palm, and his mouth stilled as Even shot him a warning look. “Listen to me, OK?” Isak's eyes widened, his eyebrows lifting in challenge before he hummed a  _ yes.  _ “Good. Pain is relative. The worst pain you've ever felt is still the hardest thing you've had to deal with, no matter how it measures—bigger or smaller—to anyone else's. Doctors don't send people away who have the flu because the patient they just saw broke their leg, do they?” Isak slowly shook his head, and Even moved his hand away. “You're entitled to your feelings, Baby. You're  _ justified  _ in your reactions. But if you want to reconsider your boundaries, then that’s OK too.” 

Isak studied his face before letting out a heavy breath. “You always speak so much sense,” he murmured. 

Even grinned back. “I'm just an expert in charming you.” 

Grunting a laugh, Even felt relief fill him as Isak's smile returned. “The  _ master _ of charming me,” he amended before chewing his lip. “I like it when you tell me about myths and shit.” 

“You do?” 

Isak nodded. “It's hot.” 

“ _ It is? _ ” Even spluttered in surprise before donning a serious expression. “I mean, of course I knew, that was the desired effect.” 

Cocking an eyebrow, Isak didn't mask his amusement. “I think you're a good story teller. I can imagine you telling our grandkids tall tales in front of the fire. And I'm standing impatiently in the doorway—with a hard on—waiting for bedtime.” 

Even was laughing from the pit of his stomach—amusement that made him weak. “There's… a lot that needs addressing there, and it's equally cute and so fucking wrong…  _ Grandkids?” _

“Yep,” he said firmly, mirth unwavering. 

“That's a bit presumptuous, isn't it?” Isak's confidence faltered and Even felt a sudden pang of wrongdoing for taking the irresistible opportunity to joke. “What if  _ our  _ kids don't want kids?” 

The grin was back, but he shrugged. “Ours or Jonas and Eva's. I'm sure there will be second hand grandkids from somewhere.” 

“And you’re sure  _ they  _ want kids?”

Isak snorted. “They better do, Eva has already promised me the position of Godfather—when we were kids—so… they owe me a child.”

_ “They owe you a child? _ ” Even repeated, trying to control the bouts of laughter, but it was impossible. “You know they don’t mean the Marlon Brando kinda Godfather.”

_ “Marlon who?” _

“Oh, Jesus, Isak we have a lot of movies to watch together.”

Isak smirked. “More marathons. That sounds awesome.” 

Tsking, Even shook his head. “I don't know if I  _ should  _ feel guilty for how filthy your mind has become, but I don't.” 

“You  _ are _ wholly responsible,” Isak mused, fingers toying with the ends of Even’s hair again. “But I don't mind.” 

“Ditto.” 

Isak grinned before a thought came to him, one that brought a frown. He pursed his lips thoughtfully and Even just watched as the words assembled themselves. 

“Do you think— _ should _ I open the letter?” 

Enjoying the sensation of his hair being played with, Even considered the question. He didn't need to establish exactly which letter. Isak had been thinking of his parents before he'd gone to the hospice, so this wasn't a new revelation. “It's up to you. Do you  _ want _ to?” 

Isak nodded slowly. “I think so.” 

“Now?” 

“What's the worst that can happen?” 

Even shrugged. “That's true,” he admitted before rolling back to let Isak sit up. “Come on then.” 

“Together?” Isak asked, sounding unsure. 

“You don't have to show me or tell me what's there, but I'll sit with you. Unless you want me to stay here—” 

His sentence was cut off as Isak lurched for him, pushing a forceful kiss to his mouth. As he pulled back, his hand grabbed Even’s. “Together is good,” he said hastily. 

Shaking his head, Even tried to focus; it was too easy to get lost in eyes that reminded him of a lush forest in the height of spring—full of hope and life. 

_ What did Isak see in his eyes? _

Edging from the bed, he tugged Isak along with him. “I'm guessing you hid it in your room?” he asked as Isak pulled up to his side. 

“Yeah. In the desk drawer.” 

“That's some impressive hiding,” he teased. 

Isak sent him a sidelong look. “I’m sure you’ll be happy about that when it comes to me hiding your Christmas presents.”

Even stumbled at that. He’d never thought about presents. “We’re doing presents? What presents? What do you want?”

“It’s not a surprise if I tell you what I want,” Isak mused as he pushed into the room. Even went straight to the bed, settling on the edge and watching Isak move with purpose to the desk, while his mind was now all consumed by what gift he would get Isak. As he thought, his eyes drifted over the space. The room was much tidier than his own— _ their  _ room—because they hadn’t been holed up in here. Even realised that they also hadn’t christened any of the surfaces yet; they should amend that soon.

_ Well, after all this _ . 

“If knowledge can create problems, it’s not through ignorance that we can solve them,” Isak murmured to himself as he opened the drawer—the words seemed to sharpen his focus. 

It only took a few moments of rearranging some papers—that Even would bet his life were arranged by size— before Isak had pulled out the envelope that had sat on the kitchen table all those long weeks ago. He paused, frowning down at it whilst he tapped it against one open palm, like that method would decode the contents alone. Then he was striding across the room, turning where Even sat to abruptly deposit himself in his lap. It forced a grunted laugh from Even before his arms found themselves coiling around Isak's waist and he pushed his nose into the hair at Isak's nape. 

“Are you a cat now?” he murmured. 

Isak shrugged before his thumb ran slowly under the envelope fold, Even couldn't see him but he could feel and hear the motion. In his mind's eye the process was something akin to surgery. “I can be whatever you want.” 

Even hummed in consideration. “You'd probably look cute with cat ears.” He could practically hear Isak's eye roll. 

“With a leotard?” 

“Now we're talking.” 

Isak snorted. “You're in—” Even could imagine the next word was supposed to be incorrigible, but Isak’s intent was lost as whatever it was that hid behind the blank, ominous front of an envelope, revealed itself. Even closed his eyes, hugging Isak tighter as he pushed a kiss to his neck. He would wait. 

Isak let out a deep breath that sounded like it had been held for hours. “It's just a card,” he said. But the tone wasn't disappointment, like he'd been hoping for more. It was surprise. 

Even held back the curiosity to open his eyes and peer at whatever had stunned Isak. “Just a card?” he asked into Isak's shoulder.

“Well, no.” 

Even was frowning. “What do you mean?”

Shifting around, Isak turned, sitting sideways in Even’s lap. “Look,” he said. 

So Even opened his eyes, surprised by how much of his focus had been directed into whatever lurked in the envelop being positive. He felt relief too. But he couldn't help the smile that sprung onto his face when he took in the card offered under his nose. There, on the regular rectangular shape, were eighteen separate images, all jammed onto the space. It was clearly made by an amateur, but that didn't matter because it was also clearly made with love. It didn't take long until he’d figured out what the images were and he was helpless to the  _ awww _ that escaped his mouth without his control. 

“Shut up,” Isak said, but he was fighting his own smile. 

“What? It's cute. You're cute. Look at you there,” Even exclaimed pointing to one picture where Isak was dressed as an elf. Long blond hair spilling from under the green pointed hat perched on his head, someone had pinked up his cheeks with red face paint. 

“I was an elf. In a play.” 

“I can see that.  _ Your hair…,”  _ he turned to look at Isak who was already dead panning him, anticipating where Even was going with this. “You should grow it,” he added with a grin. 

Isak snorted. “No. Do you have any idea how much I was teased?”  

“ _ I _ wouldn't.” 

But Isak was still shaking his head. “No. It makes life so much harder: sports, washing it, combing it…” 

Even shrugged. “I would help—” 

“And,” Isak cut in, “It would get in the way when I'm sucking your dick. So.” 

“That's a problem.” Even admitted. He frowned, it felt oddly perverse to be talking like that while eighteen versions of Isak stated back, one of each year of his life. “Although I could hold it back.” There were always ways around problems. And he should probably think about something else because the image of holding back Isak's hair while his mouth was on him… well, that definitely was inappropriate at this particular point in time. 

Isak just sighed a quiet laugh. “I forgot about that one,” he said, pointing to a picture of him feeding a carrot to a reindeer. He looked about eleven, the unimpressed expression on his face marking the change between a beaming pre pubescent and the start of adolescence. It was cute nonetheless, especially when paired with the ugly Christmas sweater he had on. He could imagine his mum had been laughing on the other side of the camera. 

“Is that a…. Star Wars Christmas sweater?” 

“It is,” Isak replied, an odd mix of pride and obstinance in his voice. “I had to wear one, like one of those stupid family traditions. So I made sure that year it was something cool.” 

“Yoda? Dressed as Santa? Saying:  _ Naughty or Nice, Have you Been?  _ Cool?” 

“Is that what it says?” Isak was squinting at the card. He grunted when he'd decoded the tiny knitted print. “It does. And yeah that  _ is  _ cool.” 

Even suppressed a laugh. He loved that Isak liked what he liked unashamedly. “I'm not gonna argue with you over that.” 

“Cos I'm  _ right _ ,” Isak stated, pursing his lips as he studied the card. There was a thoughtful pause as both of them reflected. 

“So you've never had a Christmas away from family?” He knew the answer already, but he wanted Isak to say it aloud again, for his own sake. 

“No.” The answer was almost a whisper. 

Even chewed his lip and nodded. How to go forward without making Isak feel pushed into it? “Did she write anything? Inside?” 

Nodding, Isak slipped the card open carefully. Inside was a printed message: Merry Christmas. It was obviously the standard message that came with the design selected on whatever website Isak's parents had put this together on. 

Apart from that there was a flowing script, Even could see light pencil markings underneath where someone had deliberately practiced the speech, wanting the final product to be perfect.

* * *

 

_ Isak,  _

_ For eighteen years you have been our son. There's nothing on heaven or earth that can undo that, or diminish our love and pride in you; our only son.  _

_ We're always here for you.  _

_ Love, Mum and Dad.  _

_ (P.S. Christmas Dinner is on the 24th, as usual. You are welcome to join us, and bring a friend. We heard you might have someone special.) _

* * *

 

It was succinct, there was no pressure being applied, or guilt added to Isak's conscience. Just a need to reassure their child of their love. Even would hazard a guess at the information leak being someone other than Eskild—he was pretty good at keeping information on a need to know basis. 

“What do you think?” Even asked quietly, looking up at Isak. His face was unreadable before his nose wrinkled. 

“She had to bring heaven into it.” 

Even tried not to sigh. “Well, I think it was more a figure of speech. She sounds like she's being friendly.” 

But Isak's continued to stare at the words like it was a trap. “Someone special. I bet Eva told them.” 

“Maybe,” Even put in. “Does it matter?” 

Isak shrugged. “I guess not. I know how much they call Eskild, it must be hard for them to be in the middle.” 

Running a hand up Isak's back, Even studied him. He knew what was going on, Isak wasn't being confronted with the reaction he’d dreaded, but he was fearful in feeling relief because this conclusion hadn't seemed possible to him. Evidently, this had been a bigger monster in his head than in anyone else's. But that didn't mean Isak was not entitled to feel what he felt. 

“Is there anything else?” Even asked. 

Isak shook his head. “That's it.” 

Frowning, Even took the card from Isak and turned it over. He'd seen people make their own before, sometimes they added quotes or pictures on the back. He was not disappointed. 

“Oh my god,” he snorted, laughter spilling from him. “Is that you?” 

“ _ What the fuck _ ,” Isak exclaimed, pulling it away from Even. “Jesus, why would she do that?” 

But Even was finding it hard to stop the peels of laughter. There stood a baby Isak in his cot, completely naked, with what Even could only assumed was shit all over his ass  _ and  _ hands as he painted the white bars of his cot a wonderfully earthy tone. The caption underneath read:  _ We've been through worse kiddo…  _

“Isak the artist,” he managed once he could speak, earning him a severe scowl from Isak. But his lips quirked in the smile he was withholding. 

“That's gotta be my dad. Jesus…” he trailed off. 

“Well, he has a sense of humour.” 

Isak snorted. “He's a dick.” The smile won the battle. 

“Dick or not, they clearly miss you,” Even offered quietly, watching as Isak grew contemplative. 

After a long moment, he nodded in agreement. “I miss them,” he admitted, voice as low as Even’s had been. 

Watching as Isak chewed his lower lip thoughtfully, gaze still on the card, Even pondered on what to suggest next. Reaching up, he tucked a strand of hair behind Isak's ear. “Well, you've met my mum now… so, it's only fair that I meet your parents.” It wasn't a fair trade off, he knew that. Even hoped that their visit to Isak's parents wasn't going to be near a fraction as traumatic when compared with what Isak had endured today. 

Isak's eyes were on Even immediately, he didn't look perturbed. “You want to go?” It wasn't asked with horror at the suggestion, more surprise that Even would be, in any way, keen. 

“Of course. I think it would be good for both of us.” And he meant it. Isak could see if the relationship with his parents was salvageable, which Even believed was the case now, and for Even it would bring another social element into his life. He'd never really considered needing anyone apart from himself, but now he knew he needed Isak, and with Isak came his friends and family. Those things had been a foreign concept to Even, and never anything he'd craved, but things were different now. The idea of meeting Isak's family was exciting. 

“Are you sure?” Isak had turned in his lap, wrapping his arms around Even’s neck. His voice carried trepidation but also excitement. 

“I'm positive.” Those two words split Isak's face in a grin, and Even curled his arms around him. He would do anything to keep that smile on Isak’s face. 

“OK,” Isak said. “OK, well go.” 

“It's a date.” Even had barely got the words out before Isak's mouth was on his, kissing him with a firm need. Even pulled his body closer. Relief was what he felt, two hurdles overcome that had been weighing on them both. It was easy to melt into each other now, there had never been much resistance before, but there was an urge to celebrate the fact that they had grown closer still—as impossible as it seemed. Isak’s fingers were drawing lines down his back while the kiss deepened, and there was no hesitation or fear in his hands.  _ Nothing  _ had changed in Isak except he’d gained a better understanding of Even. All his secrets were shared.

Euphoric didn’t even come close to describing how that revelation made Even feel. 

Isak pulled back to breathe, and Even took the chance to intervene before they both forgot the world existed again. “While my brain is still functioning, and yours actually, I think you should call you mum,” he panted before reaching a hand back behind his head to quickly yank the card still held in Isak’s grip. “And I’m going to put this in our room.”

Gawking at Even, Isak worked his mouth to sputter a reply. “Where are you putting it? You can’t have it out on display—not with the picture—” 

“It’ll be fine, no one will see it on the drawers.” Even asserted with a grin. “Besides, it belongs next to the photo you brought back today. We’re building memories.”

Isak’s expression softened before a smile crept onto his face. “OK, but you have to promise never to show anyone. If Eskild sees it…” he trailed off, shaking his head.

“I know, just our secret.”

Isak nodded, but thoughtfulness enveloped him quickly. “And… I think I’ll text her—my mum. I’m not ready to call.”

“That sounds like a smart idea,” Even mused. It was also a quicker task than a call, which meant they could get back to  _ celebrating _ . “Well, let me give you your space to compose, and I’ll put the photos out—” Even shifted to move off the bed, expecting Isak to move from his lap. And compose was the right word, Isak would probably spend about fifteen minutes trying to get the wording right. But the grip around his neck tightened.

“Wait, baby,” Isak said, voice sombre. And Even waited, pausing to look up into wide eyes patiently. “You know, if you ever want to talk about her or anything, that you can, right? Anything that’s on your mind you can say—or-or if I ever do something that makes you feel—” His words stopped as Even left the card on the sheets to cup Isak’s face with both hands. 

“Isak,” he said softly. “You don’t even have to say that, I know. And if I ever hold back, it’s only because I’m scared. But I want you to know—know all of me. OK?” 

Nodding, Isak’s apprehension was replaced by comfort. “OK.” His head bobbed down quickly to steal one more kiss, and then he was sliding off Even’s lap, pushing his hand into his pocket to pull his phone free. “I’ll be quick,” he added with a wink, evidently aware of what Even had in mind.

Even grunted a laugh as he made his way from the room, card in hand. “Take your time, I’m not going anywhere,” he assured. 

It was only when Even was halfway down the hall that he realised the solved worries had been replaced by new ones—albeit worries that were  _ much  _ lighter in weight and consequence.

_ What the hell was he going to get Isak’s parents for Christmas? _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW's: child sex abuse, domestic violence, alcohol abuse. Nothing is explicit, it is however heavily implied (which can sometimes be worse 'cos imagination)
> 
> I just wanted to be clear, this is a topic that's very personal to me, and I tried to present it as true to what I know and have experienced it. This is all apart of Even's character in this AU, not written for entertainment (his mum being someone I'm actually related to). A lot of us, I know, can relate to this subject sadly.

**Author's Note:**

> I have no idea how long these chapters will take to write... bear with me. 
> 
> Comment, love, kudos, suggestions, criticism... all welcomed <3 
> 
> Let me know your thoughts... It gets lonely out here <3


End file.
